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GEORG  EBERS'S  BOOKS. 

ROMANCES.       ' 

Cleopatra.     Translated   from  the  German  by  Mary   J. 

Safford.     2  volumes. 
A   Thorny   Path.     (Per  Aspera.)     Translated  by  Clara 

Bell.     2  volumes. 
An  Egyptian  Princess.    Translated  by  Eleanor  Grove. 

2  volumes. 
Uarda.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell.     2  volumes. 
Homo  Sum,    Translated  by  Clara  Bell,     i  volume. 
The  Sisters.     Translated  by  Clara  Bell,     i  volume. 
A  Question.     Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.    i  volume. 
The  Emperor.     Translated  by  Clara  Bf.ll.     2  volumes. 
The    Burgomaster's    'Wife.      Translated  by  Mary   J. 

Safford.    i  volume. 
A  "Word,  only  a  "Word.     Translated  by  Mary  J.  Saf- 
ford.    I  volume. 
Serapis.    Translated  by  Clara  Bell,     i  volume. 
The    Bride   of  the    Nile.     Translated  by  Clara  Bell. 

2  volumes. 
Margery,    (Gred.)   Translated  by  Clara  Bell.  2  volumes. 
Joshua.    Translated  by  Mary  J.  Safford.     i  volume. 
The    Elixir,    and   Other   Tales.      Translated   by    Mrs. 

Edward  H.  Bell.     "With  Portrait  of  the  Author,      i 

volume. 

Each  of  the  above,  i6mo,  paper  cover,  40  cents  per  volume ; 
cloth,  75  cents.     Set  of  22  volumes,  cloth,  in  box,  $16.50. 

Also,  i2mo  edition  of  the  above  (except  *'  A  Question," 
"The  Elixir,"  "Cleopatra,"  and  "A  Thorny  Path"),  in 
8  volumes,  cloth,  $1.00  each. 

OTHER  WORKS. 
The  Story  of  My  Life.     Translated  by  Mary  J.  Saf- 
ford.    "With  Portraits.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

Lorenz  Alma  Tadema  :  His  Life  and  "Works.  Trans- 
lated by  Mart  J.  Safford.  i  volume.  i2mo.  Paper, 
40  cents ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

Richard  Lepsius  :  A  Biography.  Translated  by  Zoe 
Dana  Underhill.  i  volume.  i2mo.  Paper,  60  cents ; 
cloth,  $1.25. 


C  LEOPAT  R A 


A   ROMANi 


BY 


GEORG    EBERS 

AUTHOR   OF   UARDA,   AN   EGYPTIAN    PRINCESS,    SERAPIS,    JOSHUA, 
A  THORNY   PATH,   THE  STORY   OF  MY    LIFE,   ETC. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN 

By  MARY  J.  SAFFORD 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.  II 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1894 


Copyright,  1894, 

By  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 

7/5/3 


Electrotyped  and  Printed 
AT  THE  Appleton  Press,  U.  S.  A. 


CLEOPATRA. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

During  these  hours  of  rest  Iras  and  Charmian 
had  watched  in  turn  beside  Cleopatra.  When  she 
rose,  the  younger  attendant  rendered  her  the  neces- 
sary services.  She  was  to  devote  herself  to  her 
mistress  until  the  evening ;  for  her  companion,  who 
now  stood  in  her  way,  was  not  to  return  earlier. 
Before  Charmian  left,  she  had  seen  that  her  apart- 
ments— in  which  Barine,  since  the  Queen  had 
placed  her  in  her  charge,  had  been  a  welcome 
guest — were  carefully  watched.  The  commander 
of  the  Macedonian  guard,  who  years  before  had 
vainly  sought  her  favour,  and  finally  had  become 
the  most  loyal  of  her  friends,  had  promised  to  keep 
them  closely. 

Yet  Iras  knew  how  to  profit  by  her  mistress's 
sleep  and  the  absence  of  her  aunt.  She  had  learned 
that  she  would  be  shut  out  of  her  apartments,  and 
therefore  from  Barine  also.  Ere  any  step  could  be 
taken  against  the  prisoner,  she  must  first  arrange 


2  CLEOPATRA. 

the  necessary  preliminaries  with  Alexas.  The  fail- 
ure of  her  expectation  of  seeing  her  rival  trampled 
in  the  dust  had  transformed  her  jealous  resentment 
into  hatred,  and  though  she  was  her  niece,  she  even 
transferred  a  portion  of  it  to  Charmian,  who  had 
placed  herself  between  her  and  her  victim. 

She  had  sent  for  the  Syrian,  but  he,  too,  had 
gone  to  rest  at  a  late  hour  and  kept  her  waiting  a 
long  time.  The  reception  which  the  impatient  girl 
bestowed  was  therefore  by  no  means  cordial,  but 
her  manner  soon  grew  more  friendly. 

First  Alexas  boasted  of  having  induced  the 
Queen  to  commit  Barine's  fate  to  him.  If  he 
should  try  her  at  noon  and  find  her  guilty,  there 
was  nothing  to  prevent  him  from  compelling  her 
to  drink  the  poisoned  cup  or  having  her  strangled 
before  evening.  But  the  matter  would  be  danger- 
ous, because  the  singer's  friends  were  numerous 
and  by  no  means  powerless.  Yet,  in  the  depths  of 
her  heart,  Cleopatra  desired  nothing  more  ardently 
than  to  rid  herself  of  her  dangerous  rival.  But 
he  knew  the  great  ones  of  the  earth.  If  he  acted 
energetically  and  brought  matters  to  a  speedy 
close,  the  Queen,  to  avoid  evil  gossip,  would  bur- 
den him  with  her  own  act.  Antony's  mood  could 
not  be  predicted,  and  the  Syrian's  weal  or  woe  de- 
pended on  his  favour.  Besides,  the  execution  of 
the  singer  at  the  last  Adonis  festival  might  have  a 
dangerous  effect  upon  the  people  of  Alexandria. 
They  were  already  greatly  excited,  and  his  brother, 


CLEOPATRA.  3 

who  knew  them,  said  that  some  were  overwhelmed 
with  sorrow,  and  others  ready,  in  their  fury,  to  rise 
in  a  bloody  rebellion.  Everything  was  to  be  feared 
from  this  rabble,  but  Philostratus  understood  how 
to  persuade  them  to  many  things,  and  Alexas  had 
just  secured  his  aid. 

Alexas  had  really  succeeded  in  the  work  of 
reconciliation.  ^  During  the  orator's  married  life 
with  Barine  she  had  forbidden  her  brother-in-law 
the  house,  and  her  husband  had  quarrelled  with  the 
brother  who  sought  his  wife.  But  after  the  latter 
had  risen  to  a  high  place  in  Antony's  favour,  and 
been  loaded  with  gold  by  his  lavish  hand,  Philos- 
tratus had  again  approached  him  to  claim  his  share 
of  the  new  wealth.  And  the  source  from  which 
Alexas  drew  flowed  so  abundantly  that  his  favour- 
ite did  not  find  it  difficult  to  give.  Both  men  were 
as  unprincipled  as  they  were  lavish,  and  experi- 
ence taught  them  that  base  natures  always  have 
at  their  disposal  a  plank  with  which  to  bridge 
chasms.  If  it  is  of  gold,  it  will  be  crossed  the 
more  speedily.  Such  was  the  case  here,  and  of 
late  it  had  become  specially  firm ;  for  each  needed 
the  other's  aid. 

Alexas  loved  Barine,  while  Philostratus  no 
longer  cared  for  her.  On  the  other  hand,  he  hated 
Dion  with  so  ardent  a  thirst  for  revenge  that,  to 
obtain  it,  he  would  have  resigned  even  the  hope  of 
fresh  gains.  The  humiliation  inflicted  upon  him  by 
the  arrogant  Macedonian  noble,  and  the  derision 


4  CLEOPATRA. 

which  through  his  efforts  had  been  heaped  upon 
him,  haunted  him  like  importunate  pursuers;  and 
he  felt  that  he  could  only  rid  himself  of  them  with 
the  source  of  his  disgrace.  Without  his  brother's 
aid,  he  would  have  been  content  to  assail  Dion 
wuth  his  slandering  tongue  ;  with  his  powerful  as- 
sistance he  could  inflict  a  heavier  injury  upon  him, 
perhaps  even  rob  him  of  liberty  and  life.  They 
had  just  made  an  agreement  by  which  Philostratus 
pledged  himself  to  reconcile  the  populace  to  any 
punishment  that  might  be  inflicted  upon  Barine, 
and  Alexas  promised  to  help  his  brother  take  a 
bloody  vengeance  upon  Dion  the  Macedonian. 

Barine's  death  could  be  of  no  service  to  Alexas. 
The  sight  of  her  beauty  had  fired  his  heart  a  sec- 
ond time,  and  he  was  resolved  to  make  her  his 
own.  In  the  dungeon,  perhaps  by  torture,  she 
should  be  forced  to  grasp  his  helping  hand.  All 
this  would  permit  no  delay.  Everything  must  be 
done  before  the  return  of  Antony,  who  was  daily 
expected.  Alexas's  lavish  patron  had  made  him 
so  rich  that  he  could  bear  to  lose  his  favour  for  the 
sake  of  this  object.  Even  without  it,  he  could 
maintain  a  household  with  royal  magnificence  in 
some  city  of  his  Syrian  home. 

On  receiving  the  favourite's  assurance  that  he 
would  remove  Barine  from  Charmian's  protection 
on  the  morrow,  Iras  became  more  gracious.  She 
could  make  no  serious  objection  to  his  statement 
that  the  new  trial  might  not,  it  is  true,  end  in  a 


CLEOPATRA.  5 

sentence  of  death,  but  the  verdict  would  probably 
be  transportation  to  the  mines,  or  something  of  the 
sort. 

Then  Alexas  cautiously  tested  Iras's  feelings 
towards  his  brother's  mortal  foe.  They  were  hostile ; 
yet  when  the  favourite  intimated  that  he,  too,  ought 
to  be  given  up  to  justice,  she  showed  so  much  hesi- 
tation, that  Alexas  stopped  abruptly  and  turned 
the  conversation  upon  Barine.  Here  she  promised 
assistance  with  her  former  eager  zeal,  and  it  was 
settled  that  the  arrest  should  be  made  the  follow- 
ing morning  during  the  hours  of  Charmian's  at- 
tendance upon  the  Queen. 

Iras  had  valuable  counsel  to  offer.  She  was 
familiar  with  one  of  the  prisons,  whose  doors  she 
had  opened  to  many  a  hapless  mortal  whose  dis- 
appearance, in  her  opinion,  might  be  of  service  to 
the  Queen.  She  had  deemed  it  a  duty,  aided  by 
the  Keeper  of  the  Seal,  to  anticipate  her  mistress 
in  cases  where  her  kind  heart  would  have  found  it 
difficult  to  pronounce  a  severe  sentence,  and  Cleo- 
patra had  permitted  it,  though  without  commenda- 
tion or  praise.  What  happened  within  its  walls — 
thanks  to  the  silence  of  the  warder — never  passed 
beyond  the  portals.  If  Barine  cursed  her  life 
there,  she  would  still  fare  better  than  she,  Iras, 
who  during  the  past  few  nights  had  been  on  the 
brink  of  despair  whenever  she  thought  of  the  man 
who  had  disdained  her  love  and  abandoned  her  for 
another. 


6  ,  CLEOPATRA. 

As  the  Syrian  held  out  his  hand  to  take  leave, 
she  asked  bluntly : 

"  And  Dion  ?  " 

"  He  cannot  be  set  free,"  was  the  reply,  "  for 
he  loves  Barine  ;  nay,  the  fool  was  on  the  eve  of 
leading  her  home  to  his  beautiful  palace  as  its 
mistress." 

"  Is  that  true,  really  true  ? "  asked  Iras,  whose 
cheeks  and  lips  lost  every  tinge  of  colour, 
though  she  succeeded  in  maintaining  her  com- 
posure. 

"  He  confessed  it  yesterday  in  a  letter  to  his 
uncle,  the  Keeper  of  the  Seal,  in  which  he  en- 
treated him  to  do  his  utmost  for  his  chosen  bride, 
whom  he  would  never  resign.  But  Zeno  has  no 
liking  for  this  niece.  Do  you  wish  to  see  the 
letter?" 

"  Then,  of  course,  he  cannot  be  set  at  liberty," 
replied  Iras,  and  there  was  additional  shrillness  in 
her  voice.  "  He  will  do  everything  in  his  power 
for  the  woman  he  loves,  and  that  is  much — far 
more  than  you,  who  are  half  a  stranger  here,  sus- 
pect. The  Macedonian  families  stand  by  each 
other.  He  is  a  member  of  the  council.  The  bands 
of  the  Ephebi  will  support  him  to  a  man.  And 
the  populace  ? — He  lately  spoiled  the  game  of 
your  brother,  who  was  acting  for  me,  in  a  way. — 
He  was  finally  dragged  out  of  the  basin  of  the 
fountain,  dripping  with  water  and  overwhelmed 
with  shame." 


CLEOPATRA.  7 

"  For  that  very  reason  his  mouth  must  be 
closed." 

Iras  nodded  assent,  but  after  a  short  pause  she 
exclaimed  angrily  :  "  I  will  help  you  to  silence 
him,  but  not  forever.  Do  you  hear  ?  Theodotus's 
saying  about  the  dead  dogs  which  do  not  bite 
brought  no  blessing  to  any  one  who  followed  it. 
There  are  other  ways  of  getting  rid  of  this  man." 

"A  bird  sang  that  you  were  not  unfriendly  to 
him." 

"  A  bird  ?  Then  it  was  probably  an  owl,  which 
cannot  see  in  the  daylight.  His  worst  enemy,  your 
brother,  would  probably  sacrifice  himself  for  his 
welfare  sooner  than  I." 

"  Then  I  shall  begin  to  feel  sympathy  for  this 
Dion." 

"  I  saw  recently  that  your  compassion  sur- 
passed mine.  Death  is  not  the  hardest  punish- 
ment." 

"  Is  that  the  cause  of  this  gracious  respite  ? " 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  there  are  other  matters  to 
be  considered  here.  First,  the  condition  of  the 
times.  Everything  is  tottermg,  even  the  royal 
power,  which  a  short  time  ago  was  a  wall  which 
concealed  many  things  and  afforded  shelter  from 
every  assault.  Then  Dion  himself.  I  have  already 
numbered  those  who  will  support  him.  Since  the 
defeat  at  Actium,  the  Queen  can  no  longer  ex- 
claim to  that  many-headed  monster,  the  people, 
*You  must,'  but  *I  entreat.'     The  others " 


8  CLEOPATRA. 

"  The  first  Considerations  are  enough ;  but  may 
I  be  permitted  to  know  what  my  wise  friend  has 
awarded  to  the  hapless  wight  from  whom  she  with- 
drew her  favour  ?" 

^^  First,  imprisonment  here  at  Lochias.  He  has 
stained  his  hands  with  the  blood  of  Caesarion,  the 
King  of  kings.  That  is  high  treason,  even  in  the 
eyes  of  the  people.  Try  to  obtain  the  order  for 
the  arrest  this  very  day." 

"  Whenever  I  can  disturb  the  Queen  with  such 
matters." 

"  Not  for  my  sake,  but  to  save  her  from  injury. 
Away  with  everything  which  can  cloud  her  intel- 
lect in  these  decisive  days !  First,  away  with 
Barine,  who  spoiled  her  return  home  ;  and  then  let 
us  take  care  of  the  man  who  would  be  capable, 
for  this  woman's  sake,  of  causing  an  insurrection 
in  Alexandria.  The  great  cares  associated  w4th 
the  state  and  the  throne  are  hers ;  for  the  minor 
ones  of  the  toilet  and  the  heart  I  will  provide." 

Here  she  was  interrupted  by  one  of  Cleopatra's 
waiting-maids.  The  Queen  had  awakened,  and 
Iras  hastened  to  her  post. 

As  she  passed  Charmian's  apartments  and  saw 
two  handsome  soldiers,  belonging  to  the  Mace- 
donian body-guard,  pacing  to  and  fro  on  duty 
before  them,  her  face  darkened.  It  was  against 
her  alone  that  Charmian  was  protecting  Barine. 
She  had  been  harshly  reproved  by  the  older  woman 
on  account  of  the  artist's  daughter,  who  had  been 


i^m 


^^ivY'"' 


CLEOPATRA.  V   ^.      ^-I^'  O 

the  source  of  so  many  incidents  which  had  caused 
her  pain,  and  Iras  regretted  that  she  had  ever  con- 
fided to  her  aunt  her  love  for  Dion.  But,  no  mat- 
ter what  might  happen,  the  upas-tree  whence  ema- 
nated all  these  tortures,  anxieties,  and  vexations, 
must  be  rooted  out — stricken  from  the  ranks  of  the 
living. 

Ere  she  entered  the  Queen's  anteroom  she 
had  mentally  pronounced  sentence  of  death  on 
her  enemy.  Her  inventive  brain  was  now  busy  in 
devising  means  to  induce  the  Syrian  to  undertake 
its  execution.  If  this  stone  of  offence  was  re- 
moved it  would  again  be  possible  to  live  in  har- 
mony with  Charmian.  Dion  would  be  free,  and 
then,  much  as  he  had  wounded  her,  she  would  de- 
fend him  from  the  hatred  of  Philostratus  and  his 
brother. 

She  entered  the  Queen's  presence  with  a  lighter 
heart.  The  death  of  a  condemned  person  had  long 
since  ceased  to  move  her  deeply.  While  render- 
ing the  first  services  to  her  mistress,  who  had  been 
much  refreshed  by  her  sleep,  her  face  grew  brighter 
and  brighter ;  for  Cleopatra  voluntarily  told  her 
that  she  was  glad  to  have  her  attendance,  and  not 
be  constantly  annoyed  by  the  same  disagreeable 
matter,  which  must  soon  be  settled. 

In  fact,  Charmian,  conscious  that  no  one  else 
at  court  would  have  ventured  to  do  so,  had  never 
grown  weary,  spite  of  many  a  rebuff,  of  pleading 
Barine's  cause  until,  the  day  before,  Cleopatra,  in 


lO  CLEOPATRA. 

a  sudden  fit  of  anger,  had  commanded  her  not  to 
mention  the  mischief-maker  again. 

When  Charmian  soon  after  requested  permis- 
sion to  let  Iras  take  her  place  the  following  day, 
the  Queen  already  regretted  the  harsh  reproof  she 
had  given  her  friend,  and,  while  cordially  granting 
the  desired  leave,  begged  her  to  attribute  her  angry 
impatience  to  the  cares  which  burdened  her.  "  And 
when  you  show  me  your  kind,  faithful  face  again," 
she  concluded,  "  you  will  have  remembered  that  a 
true  friend  withholds  from  an  unhappy  woman 
whom  she  loves  whatever  will  shadow  more  deeply 
her  already  clouded  life.  This  Barine's  very  name 
sounds  like  a  jeer  at  the  composure  I  maintain 
with  so  much  difficulty.  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  it 
again." 

The  words  were  uttered  in  a  tone  so  affection- 
ate and  winning,  that  Charmian's  vexation  melted 
like  ice  in  the  sun.  Yet  she  left  the  Queen's  pres- 
ence anxious  and  troubled  ;  for  ere  she  quitted  the 
room  Cleopatra  remarked  that  she  had  committed 
the  singer's  affairs  to  Alexas.  She  was  now  doubly 
eager  to  obtain  a  day's  freedom,  for  she  knew  the 
unprincipled  favourite's  feelings  towards  the  young 
beauty,  and  longed  to  discuss  with  Archibius  the 
best  means  of  guarding  her  from  the  worst  perils. 

When  at  a  late  hour  she  went  to  rest,  she  was 
served  by  the  Nubian  maid,  who  had  accompanied 
her  to  the  court  from  her  parents'  home.  She  came 
from  the  Cataract,  where  she  had  been  bought  when 


CLEOPATRA.  1 1 

the  family  of  Alypius  accompanied  the  child  Cleo- 
patra to  the  island  of  Philse.  Anukis  was  given 
to  Charmian,  who  at  the  time  was  just  entering 
womanhood,  as  the  first  servant  who  was  her  sole 
property,  and  she  had  proved  so  clever,  skilful, 
apt  to  learn,  and  faithful,  that  her  mistress  took 
her,  as  her  personal  attendant,  to  the  palace. 

Charmian's  warm,  unselfish  love  for  the  Queen 
was  equalled  by  Anukis's  devotion  to  the  mistress 
who  had  long  since  made  her  free,  and  had  become 
so  strongly  attached  to  her  that  the  Nubian's  in- 
terests were  little  less  regarded  than  her  own. 
Her  sound,  keen  judgment  and  natural  wit  had 
gained  a  certain  renown  in  the  palace,  and  as  Cleo- 
patra often  condescended  to  rouse  her  to  an  apt 
answer,  Antony  had  done  so,  too ;  and  since  the 
slight  crook  in  the  back,  which  she  had  from  child- 
hood, had  grown  into  a  hump,  he  gave  her  the 
name  of  Aisopion — the  female  ^sop.  All  the 
Queen's  attendants  now  used  it,  and  though 
others  of  lower  rank  did  the  same,  she  permitted 
it,  though  her  ready  wit  would  have  supplied  her 
tongue  with  a  retort  sharp  enough  to  respond  to 
any  word  which  displeased  her. 

But  she  knew  the  life  and  fables  of  ^sop,  who 
had  also  once  been  a  slave,  and  deemed  it  an 
honour  to  be  compared  with  him. 

When  Charmian  had  left  Cleopatra  and  sought 
her  chamber,  she  found  Barine  sound  asleep,  but 
Anukis  was  awaiting  her,  and  her  mistress  told  her 


12  CLEOPATRA. 

with  what  deep  anxiety  for  Barine  she  had  quitted 
the  presence  of  the  Queen.  She  knew  that  the 
Nubian  was  fond  of  the  young  matron,  whom  in 
her  childhood  she  had  carried  in  her  arms,  and 
whose  father,  Leonax,  had  often  jested  with  her. 
The  maid  had  watched  her  career  with  much  in- 
terest, and  while  Barine  had  been  her  mistress's 
guest  her  efforts  to  amuse  and  soothe  her  were  un- 
ceasing. 

She  had  gone  every  morning  to  Berenike  to  ask 
tidings  of  Dion's  health,  and  always  brought  fa- 
vourable news.  Anukis  knew  Philostratus  and  his 
brother,  too,  and  as  she  liked  Antony,  who  jested 
with  her  so  kindly,  she  grieved  to  see  an  unprin- 
cipled fellow  like  Alexas  his  chief  confidant.  She 
knew  the  plots  with  which  the  Syrian  had  perse- 
cuted Barine,  and  when  Charmian  told  her  that  the 
Queen  had  committed  the  young  beauty's  fate  to 
this  man's  keeping  her  dark  face  grew  fairly  livid; 
but  she  forced  herself  to  conceal  the  terror  which 
the  news  inspired.  Her  mistress  was  also  aware 
what  this  choice  meant  to  Barine.  But  Anukis 
would  have  thought  it  wrong  to  disturb  Charmian's 
sleep  by  revealing  her  own  distress.  It  was  for- 
tunate that  she  was  going  early  the  next  morning 
to  seek  the  aid  of  Archibius,  whom  Anukis  believed 
to  be  the  wisest  of  men  ;  but  this  by  no  means 
soothed  her.  She  knew  the  fable  of  the  lion  and 
the  mouse,  which  had  been  told  in  her  home  long 
before  the  time  of  the  author  for  whom  she  was 


CLEOPATRA.  1 3 

nicknamed,  and  already  more  than  once  she  had 
been  in  a  position  to  render  far  greater  and  more 
powerful  persons  an  important  service.  To  soothe 
Charmian  to  sleep  and  turn  her  thoughts  in  another 
direction,  she  told  her  about  Dion,  whom  she  had 
found  much  better  that  day,  how  tenderly  he  seemed 
to  love  Barine,  and  how  touchingly  patient  and 
worthy  of  her  father  the  daughter  of  Leonax  had 
been. 

After  her  mistress  had  fallen  asleep  she  went  to 
the  hall  where,  spite  of  the  late  hour,  she  expected 
to  meet  some  of  the  servants — sure  of  being  greeted 
as  a  welcome  guest.  When,  a  short  time  later,  Alex- 
as's  body-slave  appeared,  she  filled  his  wine  cup, 
sat  down  by  his  side,  and  tried  with  all  the  powers 
at  her  command  to  win  his  confidence.  And  so  well 
did  the  elderly  Nubian  succeed  that  Marsyas,  a 
handsome  young  Ligurian,  after  she  had  gone,  de- 
clared that  Aisopion's  jokes  and  stories  were 
enough  to  bring  the  dead  to  life,  and  it  was  as 
pleasant  to  talk  seriously  with  the  brown-skinned 
monster  as  to  dally  with  a  fair-haired  sweetheart. 

After  Charmian  had  left  the  palace  the  follow- 
ing morning,  Anukis  again  sought  Marsyas  and 
learned  from  him  for  what  purpose  and  at  what 
hour  Iras  had  summoned  Alexas.  His  master  was 
continually  whispering  with  the  languishing  Mace- 
donian. 

When  Anukis  returned,  Barine  seemed  troubled 
because  she  brought  no  tidings  from  her  mother 


14 


CLEOPATRA. 


and  Dion  ;  but  the  Nubian  entreated  her  to  have 
patience,  and  gave  her  some  books  and  a  spindle, 
that  she  might  have  occupation  in  her  solitude. 
She,  Anukis,  must  go  to  the  kitchen,  because 
she  had  heard  yesterday  that  the  cook  had  bought 
some  mushrooms,  which  might  be  poisonous;  she 
knew  the  fungi  and  wanted  to  see  them. 

Then,  passing  into  Charmian's  chamber,  she 
glided  through  the  corridor  which  connected  the 
apartments  of  Cleopatra's  confidential  attendants, 
and  slipped  into  Iras's  room.  When  Alexas  en- 
tered she  was  concealed  behind  one  of  the  hang- 
ings which  covered  the  walls  of  the  reception-room. 

After  the  Syrian  had  retired  and  Iras  had  been 
called  away,  Anukis  returned  to  Barine  and  said 
that  the  mushrooms  had  really  been  poisonous,  and 
of  the  deadliest  species.  They  had  been  cooked, 
and  she  must  go  out  to  seek  an  antidote.  Since  a 
precious  human  life  might  be  at  stake,  Barine 
would  not  wish  to  keep  her. 

''  Go,"  said  the  latter,  kindly.  "But  if  you  are 
the  old  obliging  Aisopion,  you  won't  object  to  go- 
ing a  little  farther." 

"And  inquiring  at  the  house  near  the  Paneum 
garden,"  added  Anukis.  "  That  was  already  set- 
tled. Longing  is  also  a  poison  for  a  loving  heart, 
and  its  antidote  is  good  news." 

With  these  laughing  words  she  left  her  favour- 
ite; but  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  doors  her  black 
brow  became  lined  with  earnest  thought,  and  she 


CLEOPATRA. 


IS 


Stood  pondering  a  long  time.  At  last  she  went  to 
the  Bruchiiim  to  hire  a  donkey  to  ride  to  Kanopus, 
where  she  hoped  to  find  Archibius.  It  was  difficult 
to  reach  the  nearest  stand ;  for  a  great  crowd  had 
assembled  on  the  quay  between  the  Lochias  and 
the  Corner  of  the  Muses,  and  groups  of  the  com- 
mon people,  sailors,  and  slaves  were  constantly 
flocking  hither.  But  she  at  last  forced  her  way  to 
the  spot  and,  while  the  driver  was  helping  her  to 
mount  the  animal  she  had  chosen,  she  asked  what 
had  attracted  the  throng,  and  he  answered : 

"  They  are  tearing  down  the  house  of  the  old 
Museum  fungus,  Didymus." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  "  cried  the  startled  woman. 
"  The  good  old  man!  " 

"Good?"  repeated  the  driver,  scornfully. 
"  He's  a  traitor,  who  has  caused  all  the  trouble. 
Philostratus,  the  brother  of  the  great  Alexas,  a 
friend  of  Mark  Antony,  told  us  so.  He  wanted  to 
prove  it,  so  it  must  be  true.  Hear  the  shouts,  and 
how  the  stones  are  flying !  Yes,  yes.  His  grand- 
daughter and  her  lover  set  an  ambush  for  the 
King  Caesarion.  They  would  have  killed  him,  but 
the  watch  interfered,  and  now  he  lies  wounded  on 
his  couch.  If  mighty  Isis  does  not  lend  her  aid, 
the  young  prince's  life  will  soon  be  over." 

Then,  turning  to  the  donkey,  he  dealt  him  two 
severe  blows  on  the  right  and  left  haunches,  shout- 
ing: "Hi,  Grey!  It  does  one  good  to  hear  that 
royal  backs  have  room  for  the  cudgel  too." 


1 6  CLEOPATRA. 

Meanwhile,  the  Nubian  was  hesitating  whether 
she  should  not  first  turn  the  donkey  to  the  right 
and  seek  Didymus ;  but  Barine  was  threatened  by 
greater  peril,  and  her  life  was  of  more  value  than 
the  welfare  of  the  aged  pair.  This  decided  the 
question,  and  she  rode  forward. 

The  donkey  and  his  driver  did  their  best,  but 
they  came  too  late  ;  for  in  the  little  palace  at  Kano- 
pus,  Anukis  learned  from  the  porter  that  Archibius 
had  gone  to  the  city  with  his  old  friend  Timagenes, 
the  historian,  who  lived  in  Rome,  and  seemed  to 
have  come  to  Alexandria  as  an  envoy. 

Charmian,  too,  had  been  here,  but  also  failed 
to  find  the  master  of  the  house,  and  followed  him. 
Evil  tidings — which,  owing  to  the  loss  of  time  in- 
volved, might  prove  fatal.  If  the  donkey  had 
only  been  swifter !  True,  Archibius's  stable  was 
full  of  fine  animals,  but  who  was  she  that  she 
should  presume  to  use  them  ?  Yet  she  had  gained 
something  which  rendered  her  the  equal  of  many 
who  were  born  free  and  occupied  a  higher  station — 
the  reputation  for  trustworthiness  and  wisdom ;  and 
relying  upon  this,  she  told  the  faithful  old  steward, 
as  far  as  possible,  what  was  at  stake,  and  soon 
after  he  himself  took  her,  both  mounted  on  swift 
mules,  to  the  city  and  the  Paneum  garden. 

He  chose  the  nearest  road  thither  through  the 
Gate  of  the  Sun  and  the  Kanopic  Way.  Usually 
at  this  hour  it  was  crowded  with  people,  but  to-day 
few  persons  were  astir.    All  the  idlers  had  thronged 


CLEOPATRA.  1 7 

to  the  Bruchium  and  the  harbour  to  see  the  return- 
ing ships  of  the  vanquished  fleet,  hear  something 
new,  witness  the  demonstrations  of  joy,  the  sacri- 
fices and  processions,  and — if  Fortune  favoured — 
meet  the  Queen  and  relieve  their  overflowing 
hearts  by  acclamations. 

When  the  carriage  turned  towards  the  left  and 
approached  the  Paneum,  progress  for  the  first  time 
became  difficult.  A  dense  crowd  had  gathered 
around  the  hill  on  whose  summit  the  sanctuary 
of  Pan  dominated  the  spacious  garden.  Anukis's 
eye  perceived  the  tall  figure  of  Philostratus.  Was 
the  mischief-maker  everywhere  ?  This  time  he 
seemed  to  encounter  opposition,  for  loud  shouts 
interrupted  his  words.  Just  as  the  carriage  passed 
he  pointed  to  the  row  of  houses  in  which  the  widow 
of  Leonax  lived,  but  violent  resistance  followed  the 
gesture. 

Anukis  perceived  what  restrained  the  crowd; 
for,  as  the  equipage  approached  its  destination,  a 
body  of  armed  youths  stopped  it.  Their  finely- 
formed  limbs,  steeled  by  the  training  of  the  Palaes- 
tra, and  the  raven,  chestnut,  and  golden  locks 
floating  around  their  well-shaped  heads,  were  in- 
deed beautiful.  They  were  a  band  of  the  Ephebi, 
formerly  commanded  by  Archibius,  and  to  whose 
leadership  more  recently  Dion  had  been  elected. 
The  youths  had  heard  what  had  occurred — that 
imprisonment,  perhaps  even  worse  disaster,  threat- 
ened him.     At  any   other  time  it  would  scarcely 


1 8  CLEOPATRA. 

have  been  possible  to  oppose  the  decree  of  the 
Government  and  guard  their  imperilled  friend,  but 
in  these  dark  days  the  rulers  must  deal  with  them. 
Though  they  were  loyal  to  the  Queen,  and  had  re- 
solved, spite  of  her  defeat,  to  support  her  cause, 
as  soon  as  she  needed  them,  they  would  not  suffer 
Dion  to  be  punished  for  a  crime  which,  in  their 
eyes,  was  an  honour.  Their  determination  to  pro- 
tect him  grew  more  eager  with  every  vexatious 
delay  on  the  part  of  the  city  council  to  deal  with 
a  matter  which  concerned  one  of  their  own  body. 
They  had  not  yet  decided  whether  to  demand  a 
full  pardon  or  only  a  mild  sentence  for  the  man 
who  had  wounded  the  "King  of  kings,"  the  son  of 
the  sovereign.  Moreover,  the  quiet  Caesarion,  still 
subject  to  his  tutor,  had  not  understood  how  to 
win  the  favour  of  the  Ephebi.  The  weakling 
never  appeared  in  the  Palaestra,  which  even  the 
great  Mark  Antony  did  not  disdain  to  visit.  The 
latter  had  more  than  once  given  the  youths  assem- 
bled there  proofs  of  his  giant  strength,  and  his  son 
Antyllus  also  frequently  shared  their  exercises. 
Dion  had  merely  dealt  Caesarion  with  his  clenched 
fist  one  of  the  blows  which  every  one  must  encoun- 
ter in  the  arena. 

Philotas  of  Amphissa,  the  pupil  of  Didymus, 
had  been  the  first  to  inform  them  of  the  attack 
and,  with  fiery  zeal,  had  used  his  utmost  power  to 
atone  for  the  wrong  done  to  his  master's  grand- 
daughter.    His  appeal  had  roused  the  most  eager 


CLEOPATRA. 


19 


sympathy.  The  Ephebi  believed  themselves  strong 
enough  to  defend  their  friend  against  any  one  and, 
if  the  worst  should  come,  they  knew  they  would  be 
sustained  by  the  council,  the  Exegetus,  the  captain 
of  the  guard — a  brave  Macedonian,  who  had  once 
been  an  ornament  of  their  own  band — and  the  nu- 
merous clients  of  Dion  and  his  family.  There  was 
not  a  single  weakling  among  them.  They  had 
already  found  an  opportunity  to  prove  this  ;  for, 
though  they  had  arrived  too  late  to  protect  Didy- 
mus's  property  from  injury,  they  had  checked  the 
fury  of  the  mob  whose  passions  Philostratus  had 
aroused,  and  forced  back  the  crowd  whom  the 
Syrian  led  to  Barine's  dwelling  to  devote  it  to  the 
same  fate. 

Another  equipage  was  already  standing  before 
the  door  of  Berenike's  house — one  of  the  car- 
riages which  were  always  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Queen's  officials  —  when  Anukis  left  Archibius's 
vehicle.  Had  some  of  Alexas's  myrmidons  ar- 
rived, or  was  he  himself  on  the  way  to  examine 
Dion,  or  even  arrest  him  ?  The  driver,  like  all  the 
palace  servants,  knew  Anukis,  and  she  learned  from 
him  that  he  had  brought  Gorgias,  the  architect. 

Anukis  had  never  met  the  latter,  though,  dur- 
ing the  rebuilding  of  Csesarion's  apartments,  she 
had  often  seen  him,  and  heard  much  of  him  ;  among 
other  things,  that  Dion's  beautiful  palace  was  his 
work.  He  was  a  friend  of  the  wounded  man,  so 
she  need  not  fear  him. 


20  CLEOPATRA. 

When  she  entered  the  atrium  she  heard  that 
Berenike  had  gone  out  to  drive  with  Archibius 
and  his  Roman  friend.  The  leech  had  forbidden 
his  patient  to  see  many  visitors.  No  one  had  been 
admitted  except  Gorgias  and  one  of  Dion's  freed- 
men. 

But  time  pressed ;  people  of  the  same  rank 
and  disposition  understand  one  another  ;  the  old 
porter  and  the  Nubian  were  both  loyal  to  their 
employers,  and,  moreover,  were  natives  of  the 
same  country ;  so  it  required  only  a  few  words  to 
persuade  the  door-keeper  to  conduct  her  without 
delay  to  the  bedside  of  the  wounded  man. 

The  freedman,  a  tall,  weather-beaten  grey- 
beard, simply  clad,  who  looked  like  a  pilot,  was 
waiting  outside  the  sick-room.  He  had  not  yet 
been  admitted  to  Dion's  presence,  but  this  did  not 
appear  to  vex  him,  for  he  stood  leaning  quietly 
against  the  wall  beside  the  door,  gazing  at  the 
broad-brimmed  sailor's  hat  which  he  was  slowly 
turning  in  his  hands. 

Scarcely  had  Dion  heard  Anukis's  name,  when 
an  eager  ^'  Let  her  come  in  "  reached  her  ears 
through  the  half-open  door. 

The  Nubian  waited  to  be  summoned,  but  her 
dark  face  must  have  showed  distinctly  that  some- 
thing important  and  urgent  had  brought  her  here, 
for  the  wounded  man  added  to  his  first  words  of 
greeting  the  expression  of  a  fear  that  she  had  no 
good  news. 


CLEOPATRA.  21 

Her  reply  was  an  eager  nod  of  assent,  accom- 
panied by  a  doubtful  glance  at  Gorgias;  and  Dion 
now  curtly  told  the  architect  the  name  of  the  new- 
comer, and  assured  her  that  his  friend  might  hear 
everything,  even  the  greatest  secret. 

Anukis  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief  and  then,  in  a 
tone  of  the  most  earnest  warning,  poured  forth 
the  story  of  the  impending  danger.  She  would 
not  be  satisfied  when  he  spoke  of  the  Ephebi,  who 
were  ready  to  defend  him,  and  the  council,  which 
would  make  the  cause  of  one  of  its  members  its 
own,  but  entreated  him  to  seek  some  safe  place 
of  refuge,  no  matter  where ;  for  powers  against 
whom  no  resistance  would  avail  were  stretching 
their  hands  towards  him.  Even  this  statement, 
however,  proved  useless,  for  Dion  was  convinced 
that  the  influence  of  his  uncle,  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seal,  would  guard  him  from  any  serious  danger. 
Then  Anukis  resolved  to  confess  what  she  had 
overheard ;  but  she  told  the  story  without  men- 
tioning Barine,  and  the  peril  threatening  her  also. 
Finally,  with  all  the  warmth  of  a  really  anxious 
heart,  she  entreated  him  to  heed  her  warning. 

Even  while  she  was  still  speaking,  the  friends 
exchanged  significant  glances;  but  scarcely  had 
the  last  words  fallen  from  her  lips  when  the  giant 
figure  of  the  freedman  passed  through  the  door, 
which  had  remained  open. 

"  You  here,  Pyrrhus.^  "  cried  the  wounded  man 
kindly. 


22  CLEOPATRA. 

"Yes,  master,  it  is  I,"  replied  the  stalwart 
fellow,  twirling  his  sailor  hat  still  faster.  "  Lis- 
tening isn't  exactly  my  trade,  and  I  don't  usually 
enter  your  presence  uninvited ;  but  I  couldn't 
help  hearing  what  came  through  the  door,  and 
the  croaking  of  the  old  raven  drew  me  in." 

"  I  wish  you  had  heard  more  cheerful  things," 
replied  Dion ;  "  but  the  brown-skinned  bird  of  ill 
omen  usually  sings  pleasant  songs,  and  they  all 
come  from  a  faithful  heart.  But  when  my  silent 
Pyrrhus  opens  his  mouth  so  far,  something  im- 
portant must  surely  follow,  and  you  can  speak 
freely  in  her  presence." 

The  sailor  cleared  his  throat,  gripped  his 
coarse  felt  hat  in  his  sinewy  hands,  and  said,  in 
such  a  tremulous,  embarrassed  tone  that  his  heavy 
chin  quivered  and  his  voice  sometimes  faltered : 
"  If  the  woman  is  to  be  trusted,  you  must  leave 
here,  master,  and  seek  some  safe  hiding-place. 
I  came  to  offer  one.  On  my  way  I  heard  your 
name.  It  was  said  that  you  had  wounded  the 
Queen's  son,  and  it  might  cost  you  your  life. 
Then  I  thought :  *  No,  no,  not  that,  so  long  as 
Pyrrhus  lives,  who  taught  his  young  master  Dion 
to  use  the  oars  and  to  set  his  first  sail — Pyrrhus 
and  his  family.'  Why  repeat  what  we  both  know 
well  enough  ?  From  my  first  boat  and  the  land  on 
our  island  to  the  liberty  you  bestowed  upon  us,  we 
owe  everything  to  your  father  and  to  you,  and  a 
blessing  has  rested  upon  your  gift  and  our  labour, 


CLEOPATRA.  23 

and  what  is  mine  is  yours.  No  more  words  are 
needed.  You  know  our  cliff  beyond  the  Alveus 
Steganus,  north  of  the  great  harbour — the  Isle  of 
Serpents.  It  is  quickly  gained  by  any  one  who 
knows  the  course  through  the  water,  but  is  as  in- 
accessible to  others  as  the  moon  and  stars.  Peo- 
ple are  afraid  of  the  mere  name,  though  we  rid 
the  island  of  the  vermin  long  ago.  My  boys 
Dionysus,  Dionichus,  and  Dionikus — they  all  have 
*  Dion '  in  their  name — are  waiting  in  the  fish- 
market,  and  when  it  grows  dusk "     Here  the 

wounded  man  interrupted  the  speaker  by  holding 
out  his  hand  and  thanking  him  warmly  for  his 
fidelity  and  kindness,  though  he  refused  the  well- 
meant  invitation.  He  admitted  that  he  ^new  no 
safer  hiding-place  than  the  cliff  surrounded  by 
fluttering  sea-gulls,  where  Pyrrhus  lived  with  his 
family  and  earned  abundant  support  by  fishing 
and  serving  as  pilot.  But  anxiety  concerning  his 
future  wife  prevented  his  leaving  the  city. 

The  freedman  however  gave  him  no  rest.  He 
represented  how  quickly  the  harbour  could  be 
reached  from  his  island,  that  fish  were  brought 
thence  from  it  daily,  and  he  would  therefore  always 
have  news  of  what  was  passing.  His  sons  were  like 
him,  and  never  used  any  unnecessary  words;  talk- 
ing did  not  suit  them.  The  women  of  the  house- 
hold rarely  left  the  island.  So  long  as  it  sheltered 
their  beloved  guest,  they  should  not  set  foot 
away  from   it.      If  occasion    should   require,  the 


24 


CLEOPATRA. 


master  could  be  in  Alexandria  again  quickly 
enough  to  put  anything  right. 

This  suggestion  pleased  the  architect,  who 
joined  in  the  conversation  to  urge  the  freedman's 
request.  But  Dion,  for  Barine's  sake,  obstinately 
refused,  until  Anukis,  who  had  long  been  anxious 
to  go  in  pursuit  of  Archibius,  thought  it  time  to 
give  her  opinion. 

"  Go  with  the  man,  my  lord  !  "  she  cried.  "  I 
know  what  I  know.  I  will  tell  our  Barine  of  your 
faithful  resolution ;  but  how  can  she  show  her 
gratitude  for  it  if  you  are  a  dead  man  ?  " 

This  question  and  the  information  which  fol- 
lowed it  turned  the  scale  ;  and,  as  soon  as  Dion 
had  consented  to  accompany  the  freedman,  the 
Nubian  prepared  to  continue  her  errands,  but  the 
wounded  man  detained  her  to  give  many  messages 
for  Barine,  and  then  she  was  stopped  by  the  archi- 
tect, who  thought  he  had  found  in  her  the  right 
assistant  for  numerous  plans  he  had  in  his  mind. 

He  had  returned  early  that  morning  from  Her- 
oonpolis,  where,  with  other  members  of  his  profes- 
sion, he  had  inspected  the  newly  constructed  water- 
w^ay.  The  result  of  the  first  investigation  had  been 
unfavourable  to  the  verge  of  discouragement ;  and, 
in  behalf  of  the  others,  he  had  gone  to  the  Queen 
to  persuade  her  to  give  up  the  enterprise  which, 
though  so  full  of  promise,  was  impracticable  in  the 
short  time  at  their  disposal. 

He  had  travelled  all  night,  and  was  received  as 


CLEOPATRA.  25 

soon  as  Cleopatra  rose  from  her  couch.  He  had 
driven  from  the  Lochias  in  the  carriage  placed  at 
his  disposal  because  he  had  business  at  the  arsenal 
and  various  points  where  building  was  going  on, 
in  order  to  inspect  the  wall  erected  for  Antony  on 
the  Choma,  and  the  Temple  of  Isis  at  the  Corner 
of  the  Muses,  to  which  Cleopatra  desired  to  add  a 
new  building.  But  scarcely  had  he  quitted  the 
Bruchium  when  he  was  detained  by  the  crowd  as- 
sailing the  house  of  Didymus  with  beams  and  rams, 
and  at  the  same  time  keeping  off  the  Ephebi  who 
had  attacked  them. 

He  had  forced  his  way  through  the  raging  mob 
to  aid  the  old  couple  and  their  granddaughter. 
The  slave  Phryx  had  been  busily  preparing  the 
boats  which  lay  moored  in  the  harbour  of  the  sea- 
washed  estate,  but  Gorgias  had  found  it  difficult  to 
persuadei  the  grey-haired  philosopher  to  go  with 
him  and  his  family  to  the  shore.  He  was  ready  to 
face  the  enraged  rioters  and — though  it  should 
cost  his  life — cry  out  that  they  were  shamefully 
deceived  and  were  staining  themselves  with  a  dis- 
graceful crime.  Not  until  the  architect  repre- 
sented that  it  was  unworthy  of  a  Didymus  to  ex- 
pose to  bestial  violence  a  life  on  which  helpless 
women  and  the  whole  world — to  whom  his  writings 
were  guide-posts  to  the  realms  of  truth — possessed 
a  claim,  could  he  be  induced  to  yield.  Neverthe- 
less, the  sage  and  his  relatives  almost  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  furious  rabble,  for  Didymus  would 


26  CLEOPATRA. 

not  depart  until  he  had  saved  this,  that,  and  the 
other  precious  book,  till  the  number  reached  twenty 
or  thirty.  Besides,  his  old  deaf  wife,  who  usually 
submitted  quietly  when  her  defective  hearing  pre- 
vented her  comprehension  of  many  things,  insisted 
upon  knowing  what  was  occurring.  She  ordered 
everybody  who  came  near  her  to  explain  what  had 
happened,  thus  detaining  her  granddaughter  He- 
lena, who  was  trying  to  save  the  most  valuable 
articles  in  the  dwelling.  So  the  departure  was 
delayed,  and  only  the  brave  defence  of  young 
Philotas,  Didymus's  assistant,  and  some  of  the 
Ephebi,  who  joined  him,  enabled  them  to  escape 
unharmed. 

The  Scythian  guards,  which  at  last  put  a  stop 
to  the  frantic  rage  of  the  deluded  populace,  ar- 
rived too  late  to  prevent  the  destruction  of  the 
house,  but  they  saved  Philotas  and  the  other 
youths  from  the  fists  and  stones  of  the  rabble. 

When  the  boats  had  gone  farther  out  into  the 
harbour  the  question  of  finding  a  home  for  the 
philosopher  and  his  family  was  discussed.  Bere- 
nike's  house  was  also  threatened,  and  the  rules  of 
the  museum  prevented  the  reception  of  women. 
Five  servants  had  accompanied  the  family,  and 
none  of  Didymus's  learned  friends  had  room  for 
so  many  guests.  When  the  old  man  and  Helena 
began  to  enumerate  the  lodgings  of  which  they 
could  think,  Gorgias  interposed  with  an  entreaty 
that  they  would  come  to  his  house. 


CLEOPATRA. 


27 


He  had  inherited  the  dwelling  from  his  father. 
It  was  very  large  and  spacious,  almost  empty,  and 
they  could  reach  it  speedily,  as  it  stood  on  the  sea- 
shore, north  of  the  Forum.  The  fugitives  would 
be  entirely  at  liberty  there,  since  he  had  work  on 
hand  which  would  permit  him  to  spend  no  time 
under  his  own  roof  except  at  night.  He  soon 
overcame  the  trivial  objections  made  by  the  phi- 
losopher and,  fifteen  minutes  after  they  had  left 
the  Corner  of  the  Muses,  he  was  permitted  to  open 
the  door  of  his  house  to  his  guests,  and  he  did  so 
with  genuine  pleasure.  The  old  housekeeper  and 
the  grey-haired  steward,  who  had  been  in  his 
father's  service,  looked  surprised,  but  worked  zeal- 
ously after  Gorgias  had  confided  the  visitors  to 
their  charge.  The  pressure  of  business  forbade 
his  fulfilling  the  duties  of  host  in  his  own  person. 

Didymus  and  his  family  had  reason  to  be  grate- 
ful;  and  when  the  old  sage  found  in  the  large 
library  which  the  architect  placed  at  his  disposal 
many  excellent  books  and  among  them  some  of 
his  own,  he  ceased  his  restless  pacing  to  and  fro 
and  forced  himself  to  settle  down.  Then  he  re- 
membered that,  by  the  advice  of  a  friend,  he  had 
placed  his  property  in  the  keeping  of  a  reliable 
banker  and,  though  life  still  seemed  dark  grey,  it 
no  longer  looked  as  black  as  before. 

Gorgias  briefly  related  all  this  to  the  Nubian, 
and  Dion  added  that  she  would  find  Archibius 
with  his  Roman  friend  at  the  house  of  Berenike's 


28  CLEOPATRA. 

brother,  the  philosopher  Arius.  Like  himself,  the 
latter  was  suffering  from  an  injury  inflicted  by  a 
reckless  trick  of  Antyllus.  Barine's  mother  was 
there  also,  so  Anukis  could  inform  them  of  the 
fate  of  Didymus  and  his  brother,  and  tell  them  that 
he,  Dion,  intended  to  leave  her  house  and  the  city 
an  hour  after  sunset. 

"But,"  interrupted  Gorgias,  "no  one,  not  even 
your  hostess  Berenike  and  her  brother,  must  know 
your  destination. — You  look  as  if  you  could  keep 
a  secret,  woman." 

"  Though  she  owes  her  nickname  Aisopion  to 
her  nimble  tongue,"  replied  Dion. 

"  But  this  tongue  is  like  the  little  silver  fish 
with  scarlet  spots  in  the  palace  garden,"  said 
Anukis.  "  They  dart  to  and  fro  nimbly  enough ; 
but  as  soon  as  danger  threatens  they  keep  as  quiet 
in  the  water  as  though  they  were  nailed  fast.  And 
— by  mighty  Isis ! — we  have  no  lack  of  peril  in 
these  trying  times.  Would  you  like  to  see  the  lady 
Berenike  and  the  others  before  your  departure  ? " 

"  Berenike,  yes  ;  but  the  sons  of  Arius — they 
are  fine  fellows — would  be  wise  to  keep  aloof  from 
this  house  to-day." 

"  Yes  indeed  !  "  the  architect  chimed  in.  "  It 
will  be  prudent  for  their  father,  too,  to  seek  some 
hiding-place.  He  is  too  closely  connected  with 
Octavianus.  It  may  indeed  happen  that  the  Queen 
will  desire  to  make  use  of  him.  In  that  case  he 
may  be  able  to  aid  Barine,  who  is  his  sister's  child. 


CLEOPATRA.  29 

Timagenes,  too,  who  comes  from  Rome  as  a  medi- 
ator, may  have  some  influence." 

"The  same  thoughts  entered  my  poor  brain 
also,"  said  Anukis.  **  I  am  now  going  to  show  the 
gentlemen  the  danger  which  threatens  her,  and  if 

I  succeed Yet  what  could  a  serving-woman 

of  my  appearance  accomplish  ?  Still — my  house  is 
nearer  to  the  brink  of  the  stream  than  the  dwelling 
of  most  others,  and  if  I  fling  in  a  loaf,  perhaps  the 
current  will  bear  it  to  the  majestic  sea." 

"  Wise  Aisopion  !  "  cried  Dion  ;  but  the  worthy 
maid-servant  shrugged  her  crooked  shoulders,  say- 
ing :  "We  needn't  be  free-born  to  find  pleasure  in 
what  is  right ;  and  if  being  wise  means  using  one's 
brains  to  think,  with  the  intention  of  promoting 
right  and  justice,  you  can  always  call  me  so.  Then 
you  will  start  after  sundown  ?  " 

With  these  words  she  was  about  to  leave  the 
room,  but  the  architect,  who  had  watched  her  every 
movement,  had  formed  a  plan  and  begged  her  to 
follow  him. 

When  they  reached  the  next  room  he  asked  for 
a  faithful  account  of  Barine  and  the  dangers 
threatening  her.  After  consulting  her  as  if  she 
were  an  equal,  he  held  out  his  hand  in  farewell,  say- 
ing: "  If  it  is  possible  to  bring  her  to  the  Temple 
of  Isis  unseen,  these  clouds  may  scatter.  I  shall 
be  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  goddess  from  the  first 
hour  after  sunset.  I  have  some  measurements  to 
take  there.  When  you  say  you  know  that  the  im- 
23 


30 


CLEOPATRA. 


mortals  will  have  pity  on  the  innocent  woman 
whom  they  have  led  to  the  verge  of  the  abyss,  per- 
haps you  may  be  right.  It  seems  as  if  matters 
here  were  combining  in  a  way  whioh  would  be  apt 
to  rob  the  story-teller  of  his  listener's  faith." 

After  Aisopion  had  gone,  Gorgias  returned  to 
Dion's  room  and  asked  the  freedman  to  be  ready 
with  his  boat  at  a  place  on  the  shore  which  he  care- 
fully described. 

The  friends  were  again  alone.  Gorgias  had  his 
hands  full  of  work,  but  he  could  not  help  express- 
ing his  surprise  at  the  calm  bearing  which  Dion 
maintained.  "  You  behave  as  if  you  were  going 
to  an  oyster  supper  at  Kanopus,"  he  said,  shaking 
his  head  as  though  perplexed  by  some  incompre- 
hensible problem. 

"What  else  would  you  have  me  do  ?"  asked  the 
Macedonian.  "  The  vivid  imagination  of  you  artists 
shows  you  the  future  according  to  your  own  vary- 
ing moods.  If  you  hope,  you  transform  a  pleasant 
garden  into  the  Elysian  fields  ;  if  you  fear  anything 
you  behold  in  a  burning  roof  the  conflagration  of 
a  world.  We,  from  whose  cradle  the  Muse  was 
absent,  who  use  only  sober  reason  to  provide  for 
the  welfare  of  the  household  and  the  state,  as  well 
as  for  our  own,  see  facts  as  they  are  and  treat  them 
like  figures  in  a  sum.  I  know  that  Barine  is  in 
danger.  That  might  drive  me  frantic ;  but  beyond 
her  I  see  Archibius  and  Charmian  spreading  their 
protecting  wings  over  her  head ;  I  perceive  the  fear 


CLEOPATRA.  3 1 

of  my  faction,  including  the  museum,  of  the  coun- 
cil of  which  I  am  a  member,  of  my  clients  and  the 
conditions  of  the  times,  which  precludes  arousing 
the  wrath  of  the  citizens.  The  product  which  re- 
sults from  the  correct  addition  of  all  these  known 
quantities " 

"Will  be  correct,"  interrupted  his  friend,  "so 
long  as  the  most  incalculable  of  all  factors,  pas- 
sion, does  not  blend  with  them — the  passion  of  a 
woman — and  the  Queen  belongs  to  the  sex  which 
is  certainly  more  powerful  in  that  domain." 

"  Granted !  But  as  soon  as  Mark  Antony  re- 
turns it  will  be  proved  that  her  jealousy  was  need- 
less." 

"We  will  hope  so.  It  is  only  the  misled,  de- 
ceived, abused  Cleopatra  whom  I  fear;  for  she 
herself  is  matchless  in  divine  goodness.  The 
charm  by  which  she  ensnares  hearts  is  indescrib- 
able, and  the  iron  power  of  her  intellect !  I  tell  you, 
Dion " 

"  Friend,  friend,"  was  the  laughing  interruption. 
"  How  high  your  wishes  soar  !  For  three  years  I 
have  kept  an  account  of  the  conflagrations  in  your 
heart.  I  believe  we  had  reached  seventeen;  but 
this  last  one  is  equal  to  two." 

"  Folly  !  "  cried  Gorgias  in  an  irritated  tone- 
"  May  not  a  man  admire  what  is  magnificent,  won- 
derful, unique  ?  She  is  all  these  things  !  Just  now 
— how  long  ago  is  it  ? — she  appeared  before  me  in 
a  radiance  of  beauty " 


32  CLEOPATRA. 

"Which  should  have  made  you  shade  both  eyes. 
Yet  you  have  been  speaking  so  warmly  of  your 
young  guest,  her  loving  caution,  her  gentle  calm- 
ness in  the  midst  of  peril " 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  wish  to  recall  a  single  syl- 
lable ? "  the  architect  indignantly  broke  in.  "  He- 
lena has  no  peer  among  the  maidens  of  Alexandria 
— but  the  other — Cleopatra — is  elevated  in  her 
divine  majesty  above  all  ordinary  mortals.  You 
might  spare  me  and  yourself  that  scornful  curl  of 
the  lip.  Had  she  gazed  into  your  face  with  those 
tearful,  sorrowful  eyes,  as  she  did  into  mine,  and 
spoken  of  her  misery,  you  would  have  gone  through 
fire  and  water,  hand  in  hand  with  me,  for  her 
sake.  I  am  not  a  man  who  is  easily  moved,  and 
since  my  father's  death  the  only  tears  I  have  seen 
have  been  shed  by  others ;  but  when  she  talked  of 
the  mausoleum  I  was  to  build  for  her  because 
Fate,  she  knew  not  how  soon,  might  force  her  to 
seek  refuge  in  the  arms  of  death,  my  calmness  van- 
ished. Then,  when  she  numbered  me  among  the 
friends  on  whom  she  could  rely  and  held  out  her 
hand — a  matchless  hand — oh  !  laugii  if  you  choose — 
I  felt  I  know  not  how,  and  kneeling  at  her  feet  I 
kissed  it ;  it  was  wet  with  my  tears.  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  this  emotion,  and  my  lips  seem  conse- 
crated since  they  touched  the  little  white  hand 
which  spoke  a  language  of  its  own  and  stands  be- 
fore my  eyes  wherever  I  gaze." 

Pushing  back  his  thick  locks  from  his  brow  as 


CLEOPATRA. 


33 


he  spoke,  he  shook  his  head  as  though  dissatisfied 
with  himself  and,  in  an  altered  tone,  hurriedly 
continued :  "  But  this  is  a  time  ill-suited  for  such 
ebullitions  of  feeling.  I  mentioned  the  mausoleum, 
whose  erection  the  Queen  desires.  She  will  see 
the  first  hasty  sketch  to-morrow.  It  is  already 
before  my  mind's  eye.    She  wished  to  have  it  adjoin 

the  Temple  of  Isis,  her  goddess I  proposed 

the  great  sanctuary  in  the  Rhakotis  quarter,  but 
she  objected — she  wished  to  have  it  close  to  the 
palace  at  Lochias.  She  had  thought  of  the  temple 
at  the  Corner  of  the  Muses,  but  the  house  occupied 
by  Didymus  stood  in  the  way  of  a  larger  struc- 
ture. If  this  were  removed  it  would  be  possible 
to  carry  the  street  through  the  old  man's  garden, 
perhaps  even  to  the  sea-shore,  and  we  should  have 
had  space  for  a  gigantic  edifice  and  still  left  room 
for  a  fine  garden.  But  we  had  learned  how  the 
philosopher  loved  his  family  estate.    The  Queen  is 

unwilling  to  use  violence  towards  the  old  man 

She  is  just,  and  perhaps  other  reasons,  of  which  I 
am  ignorant,  influence  her.  So  I  promised  to  look 
for  another  site,  though  I  saw  how  much  she  de- 
sired to  have  her  tomb  connected  with  the  sanc- 
tuary of  her  favourite  goddess Then — I  have 

already  told  the  clever  brown  witch  —  then  the 
immortals,  Divinity,  Fate,  or  whatever  we  call  the 
power  which  guides  the  world  and  our  lives  ac- 
cording to  eternal  laws  and  its  own  mysterious, 
omnipotent  will,  permitted  a  rascally  deed,  from 


34 


CLEOPATRA. 


which  I  think  may  come  deliverance  for  you  and  a 
source  of  pleasure  to  the  Queen  in  these  days  of 
trial." 

"  Man,  man  !  Where  will  this  new  passion  lead 
you  ?  The  horses  are  stamping  impatiently  out- 
side ;  duty  summons  the  most  faithful  of  men,  and 
he  stands  like  a  prophet,  indulging  in  mysterious 
sayings !  " 

"  Whose  meaning  and  purport,  spite  of  your 
calm  calculations  of  existing  circumstances,  will 
soon  seem  no  less  wonderful  to  you  than  to  me, 
whose  unruly  artist  nature,  according  to  your 
opinion,  is  playing  me  a  trick,"  retorted  the  archi- 
tect. "  Now  listen  to  this  explanation  :  Didymus's 
house  will  be  occupied  at  once  by  my  workmen, 
but  I  shall  examine  the  lower  rooms  of  the  Temple 
of  Isis.  I  have  with  me  a  document  requiring 
obedience  to  my  orders.  Cleopatra  herself  laid  the 
plans  before  me,  even  the  secret  portion  showing 
the  course  of  the  subterranean  chambers.  It  will 
cast  some  light  upon  my  mysterious  sayings  if  I 
bear  you  away  from  the  enemy  through  one  of  the 
secret  corridors.  They  were  right  in  concealing 
from  you  by  how  slender  a  thread,  spite  of  the 
power  of  your  example  in  mathematics,  the  sword 
hangs  above  your  head.  Now  that  I  see  a  pos- 
sibility of  removing  it,  I  can  show  it  to  you.  To- 
morrow you  would  have  fallen,  without  hope  of 
rescue,  into  the  hands  of  cruel  foes  and  been  shame- 
fully abandoned  by  your  own  weak  uncle,  had  not 


CLEOPATRA.  35 

* 

the  most  implacable  of  all  your  enemies  permitted 
himself  the  infamous  pleasure  of  laying  hands  on 
an  old  man's  house,  and  the  Queen,  in  consequence 
of  an  agitating  message,  had  the  idea  suggested  of 
building  her  own  mausoleum.  The  corridor  " — here 
he  lowered  his  voice — "  of  which  I  spoke  leads  to 
the  sea  at  a  spot  close  beside  Didymus's  garden, 
and  through  it  I  will  guide  you,  and,  if  possible, 
Barine  also,  to  the  shore.  This  could  be  accom- 
plished in  the  usual  way  only  by  the  greatest  risk. 
If  we  use  the  passage  we  can  reach  a  dark  place 
on  the  strand  unseen,  and  unless  some  special  mis- 
fortune pursues  us  our  flight  will  be  unnoticed. 
The  litters  and  your  tottering  gait  would  betray 
everything  if  we  were  to  enter  the  boat  anywhere 
else  in  the  great  harbour.*' 

"And  we,  sensible  folk,  refuse  to  believe  in 
miracles!"  cried  Dion,  holding  out  his  wan  hand  to 
the  architect.  "  How  shall  I  thank  you,  you  dear, 
clever,  most  loyal  of  friends  to  your  male  friends, 
though  your  heart  is  so  faithless  to  fair  ones  ?  Add 
that  malicious  speech  to  the  former  ones,  for  which 
I  now  crave  your  pardon.  What  you  intend  to  ac- 
complish for  Barine  and  me  gives  you  a  right  to 
do  and  say  to  me  whatever  ill  you  choose  all  the 
rest  of  my  life.  Anxiety  for  her  would  surely  have 
bound  me  to  this  house  and  the  city  when  the  time 
came  to  make  the  escape,  for  without  her  my  life 
would  now  be  valueless.  But  when  I  think  that 
she  might  follow  me  to  Pyrrhus's  cliff " 


36  CLEOPATRA. 

"  Don't  flatter  yourself  with  this  hope,"  plead- 
ed Gorgias.  **  Serious  obstacles  may  interpose.  I 
am  to  have  another  talk  with  the  Nubian  later. 
With  no  offence  to  others,  I  believe  her  advice 
will  be  the  best.  She  knows  how  matters  stand 
with  the  lofty,  and  yet  herself  belongs  to  the  low- 
ly. Besides,  through  Charmian  the  way  to  the 
Queen  lies  open,  and  nothing  which  happens  at 
court  escapes  her  notice.  She  showed  me  that  we 
must  consider  Barine's  delivery  to  Alexas  a  piece 
of  good  fortune.  How  easily  jealousy  might  have 
led  to  a  fatal  crime  one  whose  wish  promptly  be- 
comes action,  unless  she  curbs  the  undue  zeal  of 
her  living  tools!  Those  on  whom  Fate  inflicts  so 
many  blows  rarely  are  in  haste  to  spare  others. 
Would  the  anxieties  which  weigh  upon  her  like 
mountains  interpose  between  the  Queen  and  the 
jealous  rancour  which  is  too  petty  for  her  great 
soul?" 

"What  is  great  or  petty  to  the  heart  of  a  lov- 
ing woman  ? "  asked  Dion.  "  In  any  case  you  will 
do  what  you  can  to  remove  Barine  from  the  power 
of  the  enraged  princess — I  know." 

Gorgias  pressed  his  friend's  hand  closely,  then, 
yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse,  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead  and  hurried  to  the  door. 

On  the  threshold  a  faint  moan  from  the  wounded 
man  stopped  him.  Would  he  be  strong  enough  to 
follow  the  long  passage  leading  to  the  sea  ? 

Dion  protested  that  he  confidently  expected  to 


CLEOPATRA..^    ^==  37 


do  so,  but  his  deeply  flushed  face  betrayed  that 
the  fever  which  had  once  been  conquered  had  re- 
turned. 

Gorgias's  eyes  sought  the  floor  in  deep  thought. 
Many  sick  persons  were  borne  to  the  temple  in  the 
hope  of  cure  ;  so  Dion's  appearance  would  cause 
no  special  surprise.  On  the  other  hand,  to  have 
strangers  carry  him  through  the  passage  seemed 
perilous.  He  himself  was  strong,  but  even  the 
strongest  person  would  have  found  it  impossible 
to  support  the  heavy  burden  of  a  grown  man  to 
the  sea,  for  the  gallery  was  low  and  of  considera- 
ble length.  Still,  if  necessary,  he  would  try.  With 
the  comforting  exclamation,  "  If  your  strength 
does  not  suffice,  another  way  will  be  found,"  he 
took  his  leave,  gave  Barine's  maid  and  the  wounded 
man's  body-slave  the  necessary  directions,  com- 
manded the  door-keeper  to  admit  no  one  save  the 
physician,  and  stepped  into  the  open  air. 

A  little  band  of  Ephebi  were  pacing  to  and  fro 
before  the  house.  Others  had  flung  themselves 
down  in  an  open  space  surrounded  by  shrubbery 
in  the  Paneum  garden,  and  were  drinking  the 
choice  wine  which  Dion's  cellarer,  by  his  orders, 
had  brought  and  was  pouring  out  for  the  crowd. 

It  was  an  animated  scene,  for  the  clients  of 
the  sufferer,  who,  after  expressing  their  sympathy, 
had  been  dismissed  by  the  porter,  and  bedizened 
girls  had  joined  the  youths.  There  was  no  lack 
of  jests  and  laughter,  and  when  some  pretty  young 


38  CLEOPATRA. 

mother  or  female  slave  passed  by  leading  children, 
with  whom  the  garden  was  a  favourite  play- 
ground, many  a  merry  word  was  exchanged. 

Gorgias  waved  his  hands  gaily  to  the  youths, 
pleased  with  the  cheerfulness  with  which  the  brave 
fellows  transformed  duty  into  a  festival,  and  many 
raised  their  wine-cups,  shouting  a  joyous  "lo"  and 
**  Evoe,"  to  drink  the  health  of  the  famous  artist 
who  not  long  ago  had  been  one  of  themselves. 

The  others  were  led  by  a  slender  youth,  the 
student  Philotas,  from  Amphissa,  Didymus's  assist- 
ant, whom  the  architect,  a  few  days  before,  had 
helped  to  liberate  from  the  demons  of  wine. 
Even  while  Gorgias  was  beckoning  to  him  from 
the  two-wheeled  chariot,  the  thought  entered  his 
mind  that  yonder  handsome  youth,  who  had  so 
deeply  wronged  Barine  and  Dion,  would  be  the 
very  person  to  help  carry  his  friend  through  the 
low-roofed  passage  to  the  sea.  If  Philotas  was 
the  person  Gorgias  believed  him  to  be,  he  would 
deem  it  a  special  favour  to  make  amends  for  his 
crime  to  those  whom  he  had  injured,  and  he  was 
not  mistaken  ;  for,  after  the  youth  had  taken  a 
solemn  oath  not  to  betray  the  secret  to  any  one, 
the  architect  asked  him  to  aid  in  Dion's  rescue. 
Philotas,  overflowing  with  joyful  gratitude,  pro- 
tested his  willingness  to  do  so,  and  promised  to 
wait  at  the  appointed  spot  in  the  Temple  of  Isis  at 
the  time  mentioned. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

While  Gorgias  was  examining  the  subterra- 
nean chambers  in  the  Temple  of  Isis,  Charmian 
returned  to  Lochias  earlier  than  she  herself  had 
expected.  She  had  met  her  brother,  whom  she 
did  not  find  at  Kanopus,  at  Berenike's,  and  after 
greeting  Dion  on  his  couch  of  pain,  she  told 
Archibius  of  her  anxiety.  She  confided  to  him 
alone  that  the  Queen  had  committed  Barine's  fate 
to  Alexas,  for  the  news  might  easily  have  led  the 
mother  of  the  endangered  woman  to  some  desper- 
ate venture;  but  even  Archibius's  composure,  so 
difficult  to  disturb,  was  not  proof  against  it.  He 
would  have  sought  the  Queen's  presence  at  once — 
if  necessary,  forced  his  way  to  it ;  but  the  historian 
Timagenes,  who  had  just  come  from  Rome,  was 
expecting  him,  and  he  had  not  returned  to  his 
birthplace  as  a  private  citizen,  but  commissioned 
h^  Octavianus  to  act  as  mediator  in  putting  an 
end  to  the  struggle  which  had  really  been  decided 
in  his  favour  at  the  battle  of  Actium.  The  choice 
of  this  mediator  was  a  happy  one ;  for  he  had 
taught  Cleopatra  in  her  childhood,  and  was  the  self- 


40 


CLEOPATRA. 


same  quick-witted  man  who  had  so  often  roused 
her  to  argument.  His  share  in  a  popular  insurrec- 
tion against  the  Roman  rule  had  led  to  his  being 
carried  as  a  slave  to  the  Tiber.  There  he  soon 
purchased  his  freedom,  and  attained  such  distinc- 
tion that  Octavianus  entrusted  this  important 
mission  to  the  man  who  was  so  well  known  in 
Alexandria.  Archibius  was  to  meet  him  at  the 
house  of  Arius,  who  was  still  suffering  from  the 
wounds  inflicted  by  the  chariot-wheels  of  Antyllus, 
and  Berenike  had  accompanied  Timagenes  to  her 
brother. 

Charmian  did  not  venture  to  go  there  ;  a  visit 
to  Octavianus's  former  teacher  would  have  been 
misinterpreted,  and  it  was  repugnant  to  her  own 
delicacy  of  feeling  to  hold  intercourse  at  this  time 
with  the  foe  and  conqueror  of  her  royal  mistress. 

She  therefore  let  her  brother  drive  with  Bere- 
nike to  the  injured  man's  ;  but  before  his  departure 
Archibius  had  promised,  if  the  worst  came,  to  dare 
everything  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  Queen,  who 
had  forbidden  her,  Charmian,  to  speak  in  behalf  of 
Barine  and  thwart  the  plans  of  Alexas. 

From  the  Pan6um  garden  she  was  carried  to 
the  Kanopic  Way  and  the  Jewish  quarter,  where 
she  had  many  important  purchases  to  make  Jpr 
Cleopatra.  It  was  long  after  noon  when  the  litter 
was  again  borne  to  Lochias. 

On  the  way  she  had  severely  felt  her  own 
powerlessness.    Without  having  accomplished  any- 


CLEOPATRA.  4I 

thing  herself,  she  was  forced  to  wait  for  the  suc- 
cess of  others ;  and  she  had  scarcely  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  palace  ere  fresh  cares  were  added 
to  those  which  already  burdened  her  soul. 

She  understood  how  to  read  the  faces  of  court- 
iers, and  the  door-keeper's  had  taught  her  that 
since  her  departure  something  momentous  had  oc- 
curred. She  disliked  to  question  the  slaves  and 
lower  officials,  so  she  refrained,  though  the  in- 
terior of  the  palace  was  crowded  with  guards, 
officials  of  every  grade,  attendants,  and  slaves. 
Many  who  saw  her  gazed  at  her  with  the  timidity 
inspired  by  those  over  whom  some  disaster  is  im- 
■  pending.  Others,  whose  relations  were  more  inti- 
mate, pressed  forward  to  enjoy  the  mournful  satis- 
faction of  being  the  first  messengers  of  evil  tidings. 
But  she  passed  swiftly  on,  keeping  them  back  with 
grave  words  and  gestures,  until,  before  the  door 
of  the  great  anteroom  thronged  with  Greek  and 
Egyptian  petitioners,  she  met  Zeno,  the  Keeper  of 
the  Seal.  Charmian  stopped  him  and  inquired 
what  had  happened. 

"  Since  when  ?  "  asked  the  old  courtier.  "  Every 
moment  has  brought  some  fresh  tidings  and  all 
are  mournful.  What  terrible  times,  Charmian,  what 
disasters ! " 

"  No  messenger  had  arrived  when  I  left  the 
Lochias,"  replied  Charmian.  *'  Now  it  seems  as 
though  the  old  monster  of  a  palace,  accustomed  to 
so  many  horrors,  is  holding  its  breath  in  dread. 


42 


CLEOPATRA. 


Tell  me  the  main  thing,  at  least,  before  I  meet  the 
Queen.'* 

"  The  main  thing  ?  Pestilence  or  famine — 
which  shall  we  call  the  worse  ? " 

"  Quick,  Zeno  !     I  am  expected." 

"  I,  too,  am  in  haste,  and  really  there  is  nothing 
to  relate  over  which  the  tongue  would  care  to 
dwell.  Candidus  arrived  first.  Came  himself 
straight  from  Actium.     The  fellow  is  bold  enough." 

"  Is  the  army  defeated  also  ? " 

"  Defeated,  dispersed,  deserted  to  the  foe — King 
Herod  with  his  legions  in  the  van." 

Charmian  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
groaned  aloud,  but  Zeno  continued : 

"  You  were  with  her  in  the  flight.  When  Mark 
Antony  left  you,  he  sailed  with  the  ships  which 
joined  him  for  Parsetonium.  A  large  body  of 
troops  on  which  the  Queen  and  Mardion  had  fixed 
their  hopes  was  encamped  there.  Reinforcements 
could  easily  be  gained  and  we  should  once  more 
have  a  fine  army  at  our  disposal." 

"  Pinarius  Scarpus,  a  cautious  soldier,  was  in 
command ;  and  I,  too,  believed " 

"  The  more  you  trusted  him,  the  greater  would 
be  your  error.  The  shameless  rascal — he  owes 
everything  to  Antony — had  received  tidings  of 
Actium  ere  the  ships  arrived,  and  had  already 
made  overtures  to  Octavianus  when  the  Imperator 
came.  The  veterans  who  opposed  the  treachery 
were  hewn  down  by  the  wretch's  orders,  but  the 


CLEOPATRA. 


43 


brave  garrison  of  the  city  could  not  be  won  over  to 
the  monstrous  crime.  It  is  due  to  these  men  that 
Mark  Antony  still  lives  and  did  not  come  to  a 
miserable  end  at  the  hands  of  his  own  troops.  The 
twice-defeated  general — a  courier  brought  the 
news — will  arrive  to-night.  Strangely  enough,  he 
will  not  come  to  Lochias,  but  to  the  little  palace 
on  the  Choma.'* 

"  Poor,  poor  Queen  !  "  cried  Charmian  ;  "how 
did  she  bear  all  this  ? " 

"  In  the  presence  of  the  defeated  Candidus  and 
Antony's  messenger  like  a  heroine.     But  afterwards 

Her  raving  did  not  last  long ;  but  the  mute, 

despairing  silence ! Ere  she  had  fully  recovered 

her  self-command  she  sent  us  all  away,  and  I  have 
not  seen  her  since.  But  all  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
which  dwell  here" — he  pointed  to  his  brow  and  breast 
— "  have  left  their  abode  and  linger  with  her.  I  totter 
from  place  to  place  like  a  soulless  body.  O  Char- 
mian !  what  has  befallen  us  ?  Where  are  the  days 
when  care  and  trouble  lay  buried  with  the  other  dead 
— the  days  and  nights  when  my  brain  united  with 
that  of  the  Queen  to  transform  this  desolate  earth 
into  the  beautiful  Elysian  Fields,  every-day  life  to 
a  festival,  festivals  to  the  very  air  of  Olympus  ? 
What  unprecedented  scenes  of  splendour  had  I  not 
devised  for  the  celebration  of  the  victory,  the  tri- 
umph— nay,  even  the  entry  into  Rome  !  Whole 
chests  are  filled  with  the  sketches,  programmes, 
drawings,  and  verses.     All  who  handle  brush  and 


44 


CLEOPATRA. 


chisel,  compose  and  execute  music,  would  have 
lent  their  aid,  and — you  may  believe  me — the  result 
would  have  been  something  which  future  genera- 
tions would  have  discussed,  lauded,- and  extolled  in 
song.     And  now — now  ?  " 

*'  Now  we  will  double  our  efforts  to  save  what 
is  yet  to  be  rescued  !  " 

"  Rescued  ? "  repeated  the  courtier  in  a  hollow 
tone.  "  The  Queen,  too,  still  clings  to  this  fine 
word.  When  I  saw  her  at  work  yesterday,  it 
seemed  as  if  I  beheld  her  drawing  water  with 
the  bottomless  vessel  of  the  Danaides.  True,  to- 
day, when  I  left  her,  her  arms  had  fallen — and  in 
this  attitude  she  now  stands  before  me  with  her 
tearful  eyes.  And  besides,  I  can't  get  my  nephew 
Dion  out  of  my  mind.  Cares — nothing  but  cares 
concerning  him  !  And  my  intentions  towards  him 
were  so  kind !  My  will  gives  him  my  entire  for- 
tune ;  but  now  he  actually  wants  to  marry  the 
singer,  the  daughter  of  the  artist  Leonax.  You 
have  taken  her  under  your  protection,  but  surely 
your  own  niece,  Iras,  is  dearer  to  you,  so  you  will 
approve  of  my  destroying  the  will  if  Dion  insists 
upon  his  own  way.  He  shall  not  have  a  solidus  of 
my  property  if  he  does  not  give  up  the  woman 
who  is  a  thorn  in  the  Queen's  flesh.  And  his  choice 
does  not  suit  our  ancient  race.  Iras,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  Dion's  playfellow,  and  I  have  long  des- 
tined her  for  his  wife.  No  better  match,  nor  one 
more  acceptable   to   the   Queen,  could   be   found 


CLEOPATRA.  45 

for  him.  He  cared  for  her  until  the  singer  be- 
witched him.  Bring  them  together,  and  they  shall 
be  like  my  own  children.  If  the  fool  resists  his 
uncle,  whose  sole  desire  is  to  benefit  him,  I  will 
withdraw  my  aid.  Whatever  intrigues  his  foes  may 
weave,  I  shall  fold  my  arms  and  not  interfere.  I 
stand  in  the  place  of  his  father,  my  dead  brother, 
and  demand  obedience.  The  Queen  is  my  universe, 
and  her  favour  is  of  more  value  than  twenty  refrac- 
tory nephews." 

"  You  will  retain  her  Majesty's  favour,  even  if 
you  intercede  for  your  brother's  son." 

"  And  Iras  ?  When  she  finds  herself  deceived — 
and  she  will  soon  discover  it — she  will  not  rest " 

"  Until  she  has  brought  ruin  upon  him,"  inter- 
rupted Charmian,  in  a  tone  of  sorrow  rather  than 
reproach  as  though  she  already  beheld  the  impend- 
ing disaster.  "But  Iras  has  no  greater  influence 
with  the  Queen  than  I,  and  if  you  and  I  unite  to 
protect  the  brave  young  fellow,  who  is  of  your  own 
blood " 

"Then,  of  course — no  doubt,  on  account  of 
your  longer  period  of  service,  you  have  more  in- 
fluence with  her  Majesty  than  Iras — however — 
such  matters  must  be  considered — and  I  have  al- 
ready said — my  mind  leaves  its  abode  to  follow 
the  Queen  like  her  shadow.  It  heeds  only  what 
concerns  her.  Let  everything  else  go  as  it  will. 
The  fleet  the  same  as  destroyed,  Candidus  defeated, 
Herod  a  deserter,  treason  on  treason — the  African 
24 


46  CLEOPATRA. 

legions  lost !  What  in  the  name  of  the  god  who 
tried  to  roll  back  the  wheel  dashing  down  the 
mountain-side  ! And  yet !  Let  us  offer  sacri- 
fices, my  friend,  and  hope  for  better  days !  " 

Zeno  retired  as  he  spoke,  but  Charmian  moved 
forward  with  a  drooping  head  to  find  Barine  and 
her  faithful  Anukis,  and  weep  her  fill  ere  she  went 
to  perform  the  duty  of  consoling  and  sustaining 
her  beloved  mistress.  Yet  she  herself  so  sorely 
needed  comfort.  Wherever  she  turned  her  eyes 
she  beheld  disaster,  peril,  treachery,  and  base  in- 
trigues. She  felt  as  if  she  had  lived  long  enough, 
and  that  her  day  was  over.  Hitherto  her  gentle 
nature,  her  intellect,  which  yearned  to  expand, 
gather  new  riches,  and  exchange  what  it  had  gained 
with  others,  had  possessed  much  to  offer  to  the 
Queen.  She  had  not  only  been  Cleopatra's  confi- 
dante, but  necessary  to  her  to  discuss  questions  far 
in  advance  of  the  demands  of  the  times,  which  oc- 
cupied her  restless  mind.  Now  the  Queen's  atten- 
tion was  wholly  absorbed  by  events — hard,  cruel 
facts — which  she  must  resist  or  turn  to  her  own 
advantage.  Her  life  had  become  a  conflict,  and 
Charmian  felt  that  she  was  by  no  means  combative. 
The  hard,  supple,  keenly  polished  intellect  of  Iras 
now  asserted  its  value,  and  the  elderly  woman  told 
herself  that  she  was  in  danger  of  being  held  in  less 
regard  than  her  younger  companion.  To  resign 
her  office  would  have  given  her  peace  of  mind,  but 
she   repelled   the  thought.     For  the   very  reason 


CLEOPATRA. 


47 


that  these  days  were  so  full  of  misery  and  perhaps 
drawing  nearer  to  the  end,  she  must  remain,  first 
for  the  sake  of  the  Queen,  but  also  to  watch  over 
Barine. 

Now  she  longed  to  go  to  Cleopatra.  Her  mere 
presence,  she  knew,  would  do  her  sore  heart  good. 

The  silvery  laugh  of  a  child  reached  her  ears 
through  the  open  gate  of  the  garden  which  she 
was  rapidly  approaching.  Little  six-year-old  Alex- 
ander ran  towards  her  with  open  arms,  hugged  her 
closely,  pressed  his  curly  head  against  her,  and 
gazed  into  her  face  with  his  large  clear  eyes. 

Charmian's  heart  swelled;  and  as  she  raised 
the  child  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him,  she  thought 
of  the  sad  fate  impending,  and  the  composure 
maintained  with  so  much  difficulty  gave  way ; 
tears  streamed  from  her  eyes  and,  sobbing  violent- 
ly, she  pressed  the  boy  closer  to  her  breast. 

The  prince,  accustomed  to  bright  faces  and 
tender  caresses,  broke  away  from  her  in  terror  to 
run  back  to  his  brother  and  sisters.  But  he  had  a 
kind  little  heart,  and,  knowing  that  no  one  weeps 
and  sobs  unless  in  pain,  Alexander  pitied  Char- 
mian,  whom  he  loved,  and  hurried  to  her  again. 

What  he  meant  to  show  her  had  pleased  his 
mother,  too,  and  dried  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  So 
he  took  Charmian  by  the  hana  and  drew  her  along, 
saying  that  he  wanted  her  to  see  the  prettiest 
thing.  She  willingly  allowed  herself  to  be  led  over 
the  paths,  strewn  with  red  sand,  of  the  little  garden 


48  CLEOPATRA. 

which  Antony  had  had  laid  out  for  his  children  in 
the  magnificent  style  which  pleased  his  love  of 
splendour,  and  filled  with  rare  and  beautiful  things. 

There  was  a  pond  with  tiny  gold  and  silver 
fish,  where  the  rare  lotus  flowers  with  pink  blos- 
soms arose  from  amid  their  smooth  green  leaves, 
and  another  where  dwarf  ducks  of  every  colour, 
which  seemed  as  if  they  had  been  created  for  chil- 
dren, swam  to  and  fro.  A  bit  of  the  sea  which 
washed  its  shore  had  been  enclosed  by  a  gilded  lat- 
tice-work, and  on  its  surface  floated  a  number  of 
snow-white  swans  and  black  ones  with  scarlet  bills. 
Native  and  Indian  flowers  of  every  hue  adorned 
the  beds,  and  the  narrow  paths  were  shaded  by 
arbours  made  of  gold  wire,  over  which  ran  climb- 
ing vines  filled  with  bright  blossoms. 

A  grotto  of  stalactites  behind  the  dense  foliage 
of  an  Indian  tree  offered  a  resting-place,  and  be- 
side it  was  a  little  house  where  the  children  could 
stay.  The  interior  lacked  none  of  the  requisites 
of  living,  not  even  the  cooking  utensils  in  the 
kitchen,  and  the  family  portraits  in  the  tablinum, 
delicately  painted  by  an  artist  on  small  ivory  slabs. 
Everything  was  made  to  suit  the  size  of  children, 
but  of  the  most  costly  material  and  careful  work- 
manship. 

Behind  the  house  was  a  little  stable  where  four 
tiny  horses  with  spotted  skins,  the  rarest  and  pret- 
tiest creatures  imaginable — a  gift  from  the  King 
of  Media — were  stamping  the  ground. 


CLEOPATRA. 


49 


In  another  place  was  an  enclosure  containing 
gazelles,  ostriches,  young  giraffes,  and  other  grass- 
eating  animals.  Bright-plumaged  birds  and  mon- 
keys filled  the  tops  of  the  trees,  gay  balls  rose  and 
fell  on  the  jets  of  the  fountains,  and  child  genii 
and  images  of  the  gods  in  bronze  and  marble 
peered  from  the  foliage.  This  whole  enchanted 
world  was  comprised  within  a  narrow  space,  and, 
with  its  radiance  of  colour  and  wealth  of  form,  its 
perfume,  songs,  and  warbling,  exerted  a  bewilder- 
ing influence  upon  the  excited  imaginations  of 
grown  people  as  well  as  children. 

Little  Alexander,  without  even  casting  a  glance 
at  all  this,  drew  Charmian  forward.  He  did  not 
pause  until  he  reached  the  shore  of  the  lotus 
pond;  then,  putting  his  fingers  on  his  lips,  he  said  : 
"  There,  now,  I'll  show  you.     Look  here  !  " 

Rising  cautiously  upon  tip-toe  as  he  spoke,  he 
pointed  to  the  hollow  in  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  A 
pair  of  finches  had  built  their  nest  in  it,  and  five 
young  ones  with  big  yellow  beaks  stretched  their 
ugly  little  heads  hungrily  upward. 

"  That's  so  pretty  !  "  cried  the  prince.  "  And 
you  must  see  the  old  ones  come  to  feed  them." 

The  beautiful  boy's  sweet  face  fairly  beamed 
with  delight,  and  Charmian  kissed  him  tenderly. 
Yet,  even  as  she  did  so,  she  thought  of  the  young 
swallows  hacked  to  death  in  his  mother's  galley, 
and  a  chill  ran  through  her  veins. 

Just  at  that  moment  voices  were  heard  calling 


50  CLEOPATRA. 

Alexander  from  a  neglected  spot  behind  the  dainty 
little  house  built  for  the  children,  and  the  boy  ex- 
claimed peevishly : 

"  There,  now,  I  showed  you  the  little  nest,  so  I 
forgot.  Agatha  fell  asleep  and  Smerdis  went  away, 
so  we  were  alone.  Then  they  sent  me  to  Horus, 
the  gate-keeper,  to  get  some  of  his  spelt  bread. 
He  never  says  no  to  anything,  and  it  does  taste 
so  good.  We're  peasants,  and  have  been  using 
the  axe  and  the  hoe,  so  we  want  something  to  eat. 
Have  you  seen  our  house  ?  We  built  it  ourselves. 
Selene,  Helios,  Jotape,  my  future  wife,  and  I — yes, 
I  !  They  let  me  help,  and  we  finished  it  alone,  all 
alone  !  Everything  is  here.  We  shall  build  the 
shed  for  the  cow  to-morrow.  The  others  mustn't 
see  it,  but  I  may  show  it  to  you." 

While  speaking,  he  drew  her  forward  again, 
and  Charmian  obediently  followed.  The  twins 
and  little  Jotape,  who  had  been  chosen  for  the 
future  bride  of  the  six-year-old  Prince  Alexander — 
a  pretty,  delicate,  fair-haired  child  of  his  own  age, 
the  daughter  of  the  Median  king,  who  had  been 
betrothed  to  the  boy  after  the  Parthian  war,  and 
now  remained  as  a  hostage  at  Cleopatra's  court — 
welcomed  her  with  joyous  shouts.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  the  little  Median  princess,  Charmian 
had  witnessed  their  birth,  and  they  all  loved  her 
dearly. 

The  little  royal  labourers  showed  their  work 
with  proud  delight,  and  it  really  was  well  done. 


CLEOPATRA.  5 1 

They  had  toiled  at  it  for  weeks,  paying  no  heed  to 
the  garden  and  all  its  costly  rarities.  They  pointed 
with  special  pride  to  the  two  planks  which  Helios, 
aided  by  Alexander,  had  fished  out  of  the  sea  after 
the  last  storm,  when  they  were  left  alone,  and  to 
the  lock  on  the  door  which  they  had  secretly 
managed  to  wrench  from  an  old  gate.  Selene 
herself  had  woven  the  curtain  in  front  of  the  door. 
Now  they  were  going  to  build  a  hearth  too. 

Charmian  praised  their  skill,  while  they — all 
talking  merrily  together — told  her  how  they  had 
conquered  the  greatest  difficulties.  Their  bright 
eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure  while  describing  the 
work  of  their  own  hands,  and  they  were  so  ab- 
sorbed in  eager  delight  that  they  did  not  notice 
the  approach  of  a  man  until  startled  by  his  words: 
"  Enough  of  this  idle  sport  now,  your  Highnesses. 
Too  much  time  has  already  been  wasted  on  it." 

Then,  turning  to  the  Queen,  who  had  accom- 
panied him,  he  continued  in  a  tone  of  apology : 
"  This  amusement  might  seem  somewhat  hazard- 
ous, yet  there  is  much  to  be  said  in  its  favour. 
Besides,  it  appeared  to  afford  the  royal  children  so 
much  pleasure  that  I  permitted  it  for  a  short  time. 
But  if  your  Majesty  commands " 

"  Let  them  have  their  pleasure,"  the  Queen  in- 
terrupted kindly  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  children  saw 
their  mother  they  rushed  forward,  crowded  around 
her  with  fearless  love,  thanked  her,  and  eagerly 
assured  her  that  nothing  in  the  whole  garden  was 


52 


CLEOPATRA. 


half  so  dear  to  them  as  their  little  house.  They 
meant  to  build  a  stable  too. 

"  That  might  be  too  much,"  said  the  tutor 
Euphronion,  a  grey-haired  man  with  a  shrewd, 
kindly  face.  "  We  must  remember  how  many 
things  are  yet  to  be  learned,  that  we  may  reach 
the  goal  fixed  for  your  Majesty's  birthday  and 
pass  the  examination." 

But  all  the  children  now  joined  in  the  entreaty 
to  be  allowed  to  build  the  stable  too,  and  it  was 
granted. 

When  the  tutor  at  last  began  to  lead  them 
away,  the  royal  mother  stopped  them,  asking : 

"  Suppose,  instead  of  this  garden,  I  should  give 
you  a  bit  of  bare  land,  such  as  the  peasants  till, 
where,  after  your  lessons,  you  might  dig  and  build 
as  much  as  you  please  ? " 

Loud  shouts  of  joy  from  the  children  answered 
the  question  ;  but  the  little  Median  girl,  Jotape, 
said  hesitatingly : 

"  Could  I  take  my  doll  too — only  the  oldest, 
Atossa  ?  She  has  lost  one  arm,  yet  I  love  her  the 
best." 

"  Deprive  us  of  anything  you  choose  ! "  cried 
Helios,  drawing  little  Alexander  towards  him, 
to  show  that  they,  the  men,  were  of  the  same 
mind,  "  only  give  us  some  ground  and  let  us 
build." 

"  We  will  consider  whether  it  can  be  done," 
replied    Cleopatra.     "  Perhaps,    Euphronion,   you 


CLEOPATRA.  53 

would  be  the  right  person But  we  will  discuss 

the  matter  at  a  more  quiet  hour." 

The  tutor  withdrew  and  the  children,  who  fol- 
lowed, looked  back,  waving  their  hands  and  calling 
to  their  mother  for  a  long  time. 

When  they  had  disappeared  behind  the  shrub- 
bery in  the  garden  Charmian  exclaimed,  "  How- 
ever dark  the  sky  may  be,  so  long  as  you  possess 
these  little  ones  you  can  never  lack  sunshine." 

"  If,"  replied  Cleopatra,  gazing  pensively  at 
the  ground,  "  with  a  thought  of  them  another  did 
not  blend  which  makes  the  gloom  become  deeper 
still.  You  know  the  tidings  this  terrible  day  has 
brought  ? " 

"  All,"  replied  Charmian,  sighing  heavily. 

"  Then  you  know  the  abyss  on  whose  verge  we 
are  walking  ;  and  to  see  them — them  also  dragged 
into  the  yawning  gulf  by  their  unhappy  mother — 
O  Charmian,  Charmian !  " 

She  sobbed  aloud,  threw  her  arms  around  the 
neck  of  her  friend  and  playfellow,  and  laid  her 
head  upon  her  bosom  like  a  child  seeking  consola- 
tion. Cleopatra  wept  for  several  minutes,  and 
when  she  again  raised  her  tear-stained  face  she* 
said  softly : 

"  That  did  me  good  !  O,  Charmian  !  no  one 
needs  love  as  I  do.  On  your  warm  heart  my  own 
has  already  grown  calmer." 

"  Use  it,  nestle  there  whenever  you  need  it,  to 
the  end,"  cried  Charmian,  deeply  moved. 


54 


CLEOPATRA. 


"  To  the  end,"  repeated  Cleopatra,  wiping  her 
eyes.  "  It  began  to-day,  I  think.  I  have  just  spent 
an  hour  alone.  I  meant  to  commit  a  crime,  and 
you  know  how  impatiently  passion  sweeps  me  along. 
But  what  misfortunes  have  assailed  me  !  The  army 
destroyed;  the  desertion  of  Herod  and  Pinarius; 
Antony's  generous,  trusting  heart  torn  by  base 
treachery,  his  soul  darkened ;  the  reconstruction  of 
the  canal,  the  last  hope — Gorgias  brought  the  news 
— the  same  as  destroyed.  Just  then  little  Alexander 
came  to  show  me  his  bird's  nest.  Everything  else 
in  the  garden  seemed  to  him  worthless  by  compari- 
son. This  awakened  new  thoughts,  and  now  here 
is  the  little  house  which  the  children  have  built 
with  their  own  hands.  All  these  things  forced  me 
by  some  mysterious  power  to  look  back  along  the 
course   of   my  life   to   the   distant   days   in   your 

father's    house — I These    children  !      Upon 

what  different  foundations  our  lives  have  been 
built !  I  made  them  begin  at  the  point  I  had  gained 
when  youth  lay  behind  me.  My  childhood  com- 
menced among  the  disorders  of  the  government, 
clouded  by  my  father's  exile  and  my  mother's  death, 
.on  the  brink  of  ruin.  That  of  the  twins — they  are 
ten  years  old — will  soon  be  over — and  now,  after 
enjoying  pleasures  not  one  of  which  was  bestowed 
on  me,  they  must  endure  the  same  sorrow.  But 
did  not  we  have  better  ones?  What  they  daily 
possessed  we  only  dreamed  of  in  our  simple  gar- 
den.    How  often  I  let  you  share  the  radiant  vis- 


CLEOPATRA.  55 

ions  which  my  soul  revealed  to  me  !  You  willingly 
accompanied  me  into  the  splendid  fairy  world  of 
my  dreams.  All  that  my  imagination  conjured  up 
during  the  years  of  quiet  and  repose  accompanied 
me  into  my  after-life.  Again  and  again  I  have 
beheld  them,  rich  and  powerful,  upon  the  throne. 
The  nieans  of  rendering  the  vision  a  verity  were 
at  hand ;  and  when  I  met  the  man  whose  own  life 
resembled  the  realization  of  a  dream,  I  recalled 
those  childish  fancies  and  made  them  facts.  The 
marvels  with  which  I  adorned  my  lover's  existence 
were  childish  dreams  to  which  I  gave  tangible 
form.  This  garden  is  an  image  of  the  life  to  which 
I  intended  to  rise;  in  reality,  fell.  We  collected 
within  the  limits  of  this  bit  of  earth  everything 
which  can  delight  the  senses  ;  not  a  single  one  is 
omitted  in  this  narrow  space,  whose  crowded  maze 
of  pleasures  fairly  impede  freedom  of  movement. 
Yet  in  your  home,  and  guided  by  your  wise  father, 
I  had  learned  to  be  content  with  so  little,  and 
commenced  the  struggle  to  attain  peace.  That 
painless  peace— our  chief  good — whence  came  it  ? 

Through  me  it  was  lost    to   you    both But 

the  children — I  made  them  begin  their  lives  in 
an  arena  of  every  disturbing  influence;  and  now 
I  see  how  their  own  healthy  natures  yearn  to 
escape  from  the  dazzling  wealth  of  colour,  the 
stupefying  fragrance,  the  bewildering  songs  and 
twittering.  They  long  to  return  to  the  untilled 
earth,  where  the  life  of  struggling  mortals  began. 


56 


CLEOPATRA. 


The  boy  casts  away  the  baubles,  to  test  his  own 
creative  powers.  The  girl  follows  his  example, 
and  clings  fast  only  to  the  doll  in  which  she  sees 
the  living  child,  in  order  to  do  justice  to  the  ma- 
ternal instinct,  the  token  of  her  sex.  But  what  they 
so  eagerly  desire  is  right,  and  shall  be  granted. 
When  I  was  ten  years  old,  like  the  twins,  my  life 
and  efforts  were  already  directed  towards  one  fixed 
goal.  They  are  still  blindly  following  the  objects 
set  before  them.  Let  them  return  to  the  place 
whence  their  mother  started,  where  she  received 
everything  good  which  is  still  hers.  They  shall  go 
to  the  garden  of  Epicurus,  no  matter  whether  it 
is  the  old  one  in  Kanopus  or  elsewhere.  All  that 
their  mother  beheld  in  vivid  dreams,  which  she  often 
strove  with  wanton  extravagance  to  realize,  has 
surrounded  them  from  their  birth  and  early  satiated 
them.  When  they  enter  life,  they  will  scorn  what 
merely  stirs  and  dazzles  the  senses,  and  cling  to 
the  aspiration  for  painless  peace  of  mind,  if  a  wise 
guide  directs  them  and  protects  them  from  the 
dangers  which  the  teachings  of  Epicurus  contain 
for  youth.  I  have  found  this  guide,  and  you,  too, 
will  trust  him — I  mean  your  brother  Archibius." 

"  Archibius  ?  "  asked  Charmian  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  he  who  grew  up  in  the  garden  of  Epi- 
curus, and  in  life  and  philosophy  found  the  sup- 
port which  has  preserved  his  peace  of  mind  during 
all  the  conflicts  of  existence — he  who  loves  the 
mother,  and  to  whom  the  children  are  also  dear — 


CLEOPATRA. 


57 


he  to  whom  the  boys  and  girls  cling  with  affection- 
ate confidence.  I  wish  to  place  the  children  under 
his  protection  and,  if  he  will  consent  to  grant  this 
desire  of  the  most  hapless  of  women,  I  shall  look 
forward  calmly  to  the  end.  It  is  approaching !  I 
feel,  I  know  it !  Gorgias  is  already  at  work  upon 
the  plan  for  my  tomb." 

"  O  my  Queen  !  "  cried  Charmian  sorrowfully. 
"Whatever  may  happen,  your  illustrious  life  can- 
not be  in  danger !  The  generous  heart  of  Mark 
Antony  does  not  throb  in  Octavianus's  breast,  but 
he  is  not  cruel,  and  for  the  very  reason  that  cool 
calculation  curbs  ambition  he  will  spare  you.  He 
knows  that  you  are  the  idol  of  the  city,  the  whole 
country  ;  and  if  he  really  succeeds  in  adding  fresh 
victories  to  this  first  conquest,  if  the  immortals 
permit  your  throne  and — may  they  avert  it ! — your 
sacred  person,  too,  to  fall  into  his  power " 

"  Then,"  cried  Cleopatra,  her  clear  eyes  flash- 
ing, "  then  he  shall  learn  which  of  us  two  is  the 
greater — then  I  shall  know  how  to  maintain  the 
right  to  despise  him,  though  blind  Fate  should 
make  the  whole  power  of  the  world  subject  to  him 
who  robbed  my  son  and  Caesar's  of  his  heritage  !  " 

Her  eyes  had  blazed  with  anger  as  she  uttered 
the  words;  then,  letting  her  little  clenched  hand 
fall,  she  went  on  in  an  altered  tone : 

"  Months  may  pass  before  he  is  strong  enough 
to  risk  the  attack,  and  the  immortals  themselves 
approved  the  erection  of  the  monument.    The  only 


58  CLEOPATRA. 

obstacle  in  the  way,  the  house  of  the  old  philoso- 
pher Didymus,  was  destroyed.  A  messenger  from 
Gorgias  brought  the  news.  It  is  to  be  the  second 
monument  in  Alexandria  worthy  of  notice.  The 
other  contains  the  body  of  the  great  Alexander,  to 
whom  the  city  owes  its  origin  and  name.  He  who 
subjected  half  the  world  to  his  power  and  the 
genius  of  the  Greeks,  was  younger  than  I  when  he 
died.  Whence  do  I,  by  whose  miserable  weakness 
the  battle  of  Actium  was  lost,  derive  the  right  to 
walk  longer  beneath  the  sun  ?  Perhaps  Mark  An- 
tony will  arrive  in  a  few  hours." 

"  And  will  you  meet  the  disheartened  hero  in 
this  mood  ?  "  interrupted  Charmian. 

"  He  does  not  wish  to  be  received,"  answered 
Cleopatra  bitterly.  "  He  even  refused  to  let  me 
greet  him,  and  I  understand  the  denial.  But  what 
must  have  overwhelmed  this  joyous  nature,  so 
friendly  to  all  mankind,  that  he  longs  for  solitude 
and  avoids  meeting  those  who  are  nearest  and 
dearest  ?  Iras  is  now  at  the  Choma — whither  he 
wishes  to  retire — to  see  that  everything  is  in  order. 
She  will  also  provide  a  supply  of  the  flowers  he 
loves.  It  is  hard,  cruelly  hard,  not  to  welcome 
him  as  usual.  O  Charmian,  what  joy  it  was 
when,  with  open  arms  and  overflowing  heart,  he 
swung  his  mighty  figure  ashore  like  a  youth,  while 
his  handsome,  heroic  face  beamed  with  ardent  love 
for  me  !  And  then — you  do  not  forget  it  either — 
when  he  raised  his  deep  voice  to  shout  the  first 


CLEOPATRA.  5g 

greeting,  why,  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  fish  in  the 
water  must  join  in,  and  the  palm-trees  on  the 
shore  wave  their  feathery  tops  in  joyous  sym- 
pathy. And  here  !  The  dreams  of  my  childhood, 
which  I  made  reality  for  him,  received  us,  and  our 
existence,  wreathed  with  love  and  roses,  became  a 
fairy  tale.  Since  the  day  he  rode  towards  us  at 
Kanopus  and  offered  me  the  first  bouquet,  with 
his  sunny  glance  wooing  my  love,  his  image  has 
stood  before  my  soul  as  the  embodiment  of  the 
virile  strength  which  conquers  everything,  and  the 
bright,  undimmed  joy  which  renders  the  whole 
world  happy.  And  now — now  ?  Do  you  remember 
the  dull  dreamer  whom  we  left  ere  he  set  forth  for 
Paraetonium?  But  no,  no,  a  thousand  times  no, 
he  must  not  remain  so  !  Not  with  bowed  head, 
but  erect  as  in  the  days  of  happiness,  must  he 
cross  the  threshold  of  Hades,  hand  in  hand  with 
her  whom  he  loved.  And  he  does  love  me  still. 
Else  would  he  have  followed  me  hither,  though  no 
magic  goblet  drew  him  after  me  ?  And  I  ?  The 
heart  which,  in  the  breast  of  the  child,  gave  him 
its  first  young  love,  is  still  his,  and  will  be  forever. 
Might  I  not  go  to  the  harbour  and  await  him 
there?  Look  me  in  the- face,  Charmian,  and  an- 
swer me  as  fearlessly  as  a  mirror :  did  Olympus, 
really  succeed  in  effacing  the  wrinkles  ? " 

"  They  were  scarcely  visible  before,"  was  the 
reply,  "  and  even  the  keenest  eye  could  no  long- 
er discover   them.      I  have  brought  the   pomade, 


6o  CLEOPATRA. 

too,  and  the  prescription  Olympus  gave  me 
for " 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  interrupted  Cleopatra  softly. 
"  There  are  many  living  creatures  in  this  garden, 
and  they  say  that  even  the  birds  are  good  lis- 
teners." 

A  roguish  smile  deepened  the  dimples  in  her 
cheeks  as  she  spoke,  and  delight  in  her  bewitching 
grace  forced  from  Charmian's  lips  the  exclamation  : 

"  If  Mark  Antony  could  only  see  you  now  !  " 

**  Flatterer  !  "  replied  the  Queen  with  a  grate- 
ful smile.  But  Charmian  felt  that  the  time  had 
now  come  to  plead  once  more  for  Barine,  and  she 
began  eagerly : 

"  No,  I  certainly  do  not  flatter.  No  one  in 
Alexandria,  no  matter  what  name  she  bears,  could 
venture  to  vie  even  remotely  with  your  charms. 
So  cease  the  persecution  of  the  unfortunate  woman 
whom  you  confided  to  my  care.  It  is  an  insult  to 
Cleopatra " 

But  here  an  indignant  "  Again  !  "  interrupted 
her. 

Cleopatra's  face,  which  during  the  conversa- 
tion had  mirrored  every  emotion  of  a  woman's 
soul,  from  the  deepest  sorrow  to  the  most  mis- 
chievous mirth,  assumed  an  expression  of  repel- 
lent harshness,  and,  with  the  curt  remark,  "  You 
are  forgetting  what  I  had  good  reason  to  forbid — 
I  must  go  to  my  work,"  she  turned  her  back  upon 
the  companion  of  her  youth. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

Charmian  went  towards  her  own  apartments. 
How  often  she  had  had  a  similar  experience !  In 
the  midst  of  the  warmest  admiration  for  this  rare 
woman's  depth  of  feeling,  masculme  strength  of 
intellect,  tireless  industry,  watchful  care  for  her 
native  land,  steadfast  loyalty,  and  maternal  devo- 
tion, she  had  been  sobered  in  the  most  pitiable 
way. 

She  had  been  forced  to  see  Cleopatra,  for  the 
sake  of  realizing  a  childish  dream,  and  impressing 
her  lover,  squander  vast  sums,  which  diminished 
the  prosperity  of  her  subjects;  place  great  and 
important  matters  below  the  vain,  punctilious  care 
of  her  own  person  ;  forget,  in  petty  jealousy,  the 
justice  and  kindness  which  were  marked  traits  in 
her  character;  and,  though  the  most  kindly  and 
womanly  of  sovereigns,  suffer  herself  to  be  urged 
by  angry  excitement  to  inflict  outrage  on  a  sub- 
ject whose  acts  had  awakened  her  displeasure. 
The  lofty  ambition  which  had  inspired  her  no- 
blest and  most  praiseworthy  deeds  had  more  than 
once  been  the  source  of  acts  which  she  herself 
25 


62  CLEOPATRA. 

regretted.  When  a  child,  she  could  not  endure  to 
be  surpassed  in  difficult  tasks,  and  still  deemed  it 
a  necessity  to  be  first  and  peerless.  Hence  the 
unfortunate  circumstance  that  Antony  had  given 
Barine  the  counterpart  of  an  armlet  which  she  her- 
self wore  as  a  gift  from  her  lover,  was  perhaps 
the  principal  cause  of  her  bitter  resentment  against 
the  hapless  woman. 

Charmian  had  seen  Cleopatra  forgive  freely 
and  generously  many  a  wrong,  nay,  many  an  af- 
front, inflicted  upon  her ;  but  to  see  herself  placed 
by  her  husband  on  the  same  plane  as  a  Barine, 
even  in  the  most  trivial  matter,  might  easily  seem 
to  her  an  unbearable  insult;  and  the  mishap  which 
had  befallen  Csesarion,  in  consequence  of  his  fool- 
ish passion  for  the  young  beauty,  gave  her  a  right 
to  punish  her  rival. 

Deeply  anxious  concerning  the  fate  of  the 
woman  in  her  care — greatly  agitated,  moreover, 
and  exhausted  physically  and  mentally — Charmian 
sought  her  own  apartments. 

Here  she  hoped  to  find  solace  in  Barine's  cheer- 
ful and  equable  nature ;  here  the  helpful  hands  of 
her  dark-skinned  maid  and  confidante  awaited  her. 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  western  horizon  when 
she  entered  the  anteroom.  The  members  of  the 
body-guard  who  were  on  duty  told  her  that  noth- 
ing unusual  had  occurred,  and  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief she  passed  into  the  sitting-room. 

But  the  Ethiopian,  who  usually  came  to  meet 


CLEOPATRA.  63 

her  with  words  of  welcome,  took  her  veil  and 
wraps,  and  removed  her  shoes,  was  absent.  To- 
day no  one  greeted  her.  Not  until  she  entered 
the  second  room,  which  she  had  assigned  to  her 
guest,  did  she  find  Barine,  who  was  weeping  bit- 
terly. 

During  Charmian's  absence  the  latter  had 
received  a  letter  from  Alexas,  in  which  he  in- 
formed her  that  he  was  ordered  by  the  Queen  to 
subject  her  to  an  examination  the  next  morning. 
Her  cause  looked  dark  but,  if  she  did  not  render 
his  duty  harder  by  the  harshness  which  had  for- 
merly caused  him  much  pain,  he  would  do  his 
utmost  to  protect  her  from  imprisonment,  forced 
labour  in  the  mines,  or  even  worse  misfortunes. 
The  imprudent  game  which  she  had  played  with 
King  Caesarion  had  unfortunately  roused  the  peo- 
ple against  her.  The  depth  of  their  indignation 
was  shown  by  the  fury  with  which  they  had  as- 
sailed the  house  of  her  grandfather,  Didymus. 
Nothing  could  save  Dion,  who  had  audaciously 
attacked  the  illustrious  son  of  their  beloved 
Queen,  from  the  rage  of  the  populace.  He, 
Alexas,  knew  that  in  this  Dion  she  would  lose  a 
friend  and  protector,  but  he  would  be  disposed  to 
take  his  place  if  her  conduct  did  not  render  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  unite  mercy  with  justice. 

This  shameful  letter,  which  promised  Barine 
clemency  in  return  for  her  favour  without  un- 
masking him  in  his  character  of  judge,  explained 


64  CLEOPATRA. 

to  Charmian  the  agitation  in  which  she  found  her 
friend's  daughter. 

It  was  doubtless  a  little  relief  to  Barine  to  ex- 
press her  loathing  and  abhorrence  of  Alexas  as 
eagerly  as  her  gentle  nature  would  permit,  but 
fear,  grief,  and  indignation  continued  to  struggle 
for  the  mastery  in  her  oppressed  soul. 

It  would  have  been  expected  that  the  keen- 
witted woman  would  have  eagerly  inquired  what 
Charmian  had  accomplished  with  the  Queen  and 
Archibius,  and  what  new  events  had  happened  to 
affect  Cleopatra,  the  state,  and  the  city ;  but  she 
questioned  her  with  far  deeper  interest  concerning 
the  welfare  of  her  lover,  desiring  information  in 
regard  to  many  things  of  which  her  friend  could 
give  no  tidings.  In  her  brief  visit  to  Dion's  couch 
she  had  not  learned  how  he  bore  his  own  misfor- 
tunes and  Barine's,  what  view  he  took  of  the  fu- 
ture, or  what  he  expected  from  the  woman  he  loved. 

Charmian's  ignorance  and  silence  in  regard  to 
these  very  matters  increased  the  anxiety  of  the 
endangered  woman,  who  saw  not  only  her  own 
life,  but  those  dearest  to  her,  seriously  threatened. 
So  she  entreated  her  hostess  to  relieve  her  from 
the  uncertainty  which  was  harder  to  endure  than 
the  most  terrible  reality;  but  the  latter  either 
could  not  or  would  not  give  her  any  further  de- 
tails of  Cleopatra's  intentions,  or  the  fate  and 
present  abode  of  her  grandparents  and  Helena. 
This  increased  her  anxiety,  for  if  Alexas's  infor- 


CLEOPATRA.  65 

mation  was  correct,  her  family  must  be  homeless. 
When  Charmian  at  last  admitted  that  she  had  seen 
Dion  only  a  few  minutes,  the  tortured  Barine's 
power  of  quiet  endurance  gave  way. 

She,  whose  nature  was  so  hopeful  that,  when 
the  glow  of  the  sunset  faded,  she  already  antici- 
pated with  delight  the  rosy  dawn  of  the  next  day, 
now  beheld  in  Cleopatra's  hand  the  reed  which 
was  to  sign  the  death-sentence  of  Dion  and  her- 
self. Her  mental  vision  conjured  up  her  relatives 
wounded  by  the  falling  house  or  bleeding  under 
the  stones  hurled  by  the  raging  populace.  She 
heard  Alexas  command  the  executioner  to  subject 
her  to  the  rack,  and  fancied  that  Anukis  had  not 
returned  because  she  had  failed  to  find  Dion. 
The  Queen's  soldiers  had  probably  carried  him  to 
prison,  loaded  with  chains,  if  Philostratus  had  not 
already  instigated  the  mob  to  drag  him  through 
the  streets. 

With  feverish  impetuosity,  which  alarmed  Char- 
mian the  more  because  it  was  so  unlike  her  old 
friend's  daughter,  Barine  described  all  the  spectres 
with  which  her  imagination — agitated  by  terror, 
longing,  love,  and  loathing — terrified  her  ;  but  the 
former  exerted  all  the  power  of  eloquence  she 
possessed,  by  turns  reproving  her  and  loading  her 
with  caresses,  in  order  to  soothe  her  and  rouse  her 
from  her  despair.  But  nothing  availed.  At  last 
she  succeeded  in  persuading  the  unhappy  woman  to 
go  with  her  to  the  window,  which  afforded  a  most 


66  CLEOPATRA. 

beautiful  view.  Westward,  beyond  the  Heptasta- 
dium,  the  sun  was  sinking  below  the  forests  of  masts 
in  the  harbour  of  the  Eunostus;  and  Charmian,  who 
had  learned  from  her  intercourse  with  the  royal 
children  how  to  soothe  a  troubled  young  heart,  to 
divert  Barine's  thoughts,  directed  her  attention  to 
the  crimson  glow  in  the  western  sky,  and  told  her 
how  her  father,  the  artist,  had  showed  her  the 
superb  brilliancy  which  colours  gained  at  this  hour 
of  the  day,  even  when  the  west  was  less  radiant 
than  now.  But  Barine,  who  usually  could  never 
gaze  her  fill  at  such  a  spectacle,  did  not  thank  her, 
for  this  sunset  reminded  her  of  another  which  she 
had  lately  watched  at  Dion's  side,  and  she  again 
broke  into  convulsive  sobs. 

Charmian,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  passed  her 
arm  around  her.  Just  at  that  moment  the  door  was 
hurriedly  thrown  open,  and  Anukis,  the  Nubian, 
entered. 

Her  mistress  knew  that  something  unusual 
must  have  happened  to  detain  her  so  long  from 
her  post  at  Barine's  side,  and  her  appearance 
showed  that  she  had  been  attending  to  important 
matters  which  had  severely  taxed  her  strength. 
Her  shining  dark  skin  looked  ashen  grey,  her  high 
forehead,  surrounded  by  tangled  woolly  locks,  was 
dripping  with  perspiration,  and  her  thick  lips  were 
pale.  Although  she  must  have  undergone  great 
fatigue,  she  did  not  seem  in  need  of  rest ;  for, 
after  greeting  the  ladies,  apologizing  for  her  long 


CLEOPATRA.  67 

absence,  and  telling  Barine  that  this  time  Dion  had 
seemed  to  her  half  on  the  way  to  recovery,  a  rapid 
side  glance  at  her  mistress  conveyed  an  entreaty 
that  she  would  follow  her  into  the  next  room. 

But  the  language  of  the  Nubian's  eyes  had  not 
escaped  the  suspicious  watchfulness  of  the  anxious 
Barine  and,  overwhelmed  with  fresh  terror,  she 
begged  that  she  might  hear  all. 

Charmian  ordered  her  maid  to  speak  openly; 
but  Anukis,  ere  she  began,  assured  them  that  she 
had  received  the  news  she  brought  from  a  most 
trustworthy  source — only  it  would  make  a  heavy 
demand  upon  the  resolution  and  courage  of  Barine, 
whom  she  had  hoped  to  find  in  a  very  different 
mood.  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  She  was  ex- 
pected at  the  appointed  place  an  hour  after 
sunset. 

Here  Charmian  interrupted  the  maid  with  the 
exclamation  "  Impossible !  "  and  reminded  her  of 
the  guards  which  Alexas,  aided  by  Iras,  who  was 
thoroughly  familiar  with  the  palace,  had  stationed 
the  day  before  in  the  anteroom,  at  all  the  doors — 
nay,  even  beneath  the  windows. 

The  Nubian  replied  that  everything  had  been 
considered  ;  but,  to  gain  time,  she  must  beg  Barine 
to  let  her  colour  her  skin  and  curl  her  hair  while 
she  was  talking. 

The  surprise  visible  in  the  young  beauty's  face 
caused  her  to  exclaim :  "  Only  act  with  entire 
confidence.     You  shall  learn  everything  directly. 


68  CLEOPATRA. 

There  is  so  much  to  tell !  On  the  way  here  I 
had  planned  how  to  relate  the  whole  story  in 
regular  order,  but  it  can't  be  done  now.  No,  no! 
Whoever  wants  to  save  a  flock  of  sheep  from  a 
burning  shed  must  lead  out  the  bell-wether  first 
— the  main  thing,  I  mean — so  I  will  begin  with 
that,  though  it  really  comes  last.  The  explanation 
of  how  all  this " 

Here,  like  a  cry  of  joy,  Barine's  exclamation 
interrupted  her  : 

**  I  am  to  fly,  and  Dion  knows  it  and  will  follow 
me  !     I  see  it  in  your  face." 

In  fact,  every  feature  of  the  dusky  maid-serv- 
ant's ugly  face  betrayed  that  pleasant  thoughts 
were  agitating  her  mind.  Her  black  eyes  flashed 
with  fearless  daring,  and  a  smile  beautified  her  big 
mouth  and  thick  lips  as  she  replied  : 

"  A  loving  heart  like  yours  understands  the  art 
of  prophecy  better  than  the  chief  priest  of  the 
great  Serapis.  Yes,  my  young  mistress,  he  of 
whom  you  speak  must  disappear  from  this  wicked 
city  where  so  much  evil  threatens  you  both.  He 
will  certainly  escape  and,  if  the  immortals  aid  us 
and  we  are  wise  and  brave,  you  also.  Whence  the 
help  comes  can  be  told  later.  Now,  the  first  thing 
is  to  transform  you — don't  be  reluctant — into  the 
ugliest  woman  in  the  world — black  Anukis.  You 
must  escape  from  the  palace  in  this  disguise. — Now 
you  know  the  whole  plan,  and  while  I  get  what  is 
necessary  from  my  chest  of  clothes,   I  beg  you. 


CLEOPATRA.  69 

mistress,  to  consider  how  we  are  to  obtain  the 
black  stains  for  that  ivory  skin  and  golden 
hair." 

With  these  words  she  left  the  room,  but  Barine 
flung  herself  into  her  friend's  arms,  exclaiming, 
amid  tears  and  laughter:  "Though  I  should  be 
forced  to  remain  forever  as  black  and  crooked  as 
faithful  Aisopion,  if  he  did  not  withdraw  his  love, 
though   I  were   obliged   to    go    through   fire   and 

water — I  would O  Charmian  !  what  changes 

so  quickly  as  joy  and  sorrow  ?  I  would  fain  show 
some  kindness  to  every  one  in  the  world,  even  to 
your  Queen,  who  has  brought  all  these  troubles 
upon  me." 

The  new-born  hope  had  transformed  the  de- 
spairing woman  into  a  happy  one,  and  Charmian 
perceived  it  with  grateful  joy,  secretly  wishing  that 
Cleopatra  had  listened  to  her  appeal. 

While  examining  the  hair-dyes  used  by  the 
Queen  she  saw,  lurking  in  the  background  of  what 
was  still  unexplained,  and  therefore  confused  her 
mind,  fresh  and  serious  perils.  Barine,  on  the  con- 
trary, gazed  across  them  to  the  anticipated  meet- 
ing with  her  lover,  and  was  full  of  the  gayest  ex- 
pectation until  the  maid-servant's  return. 

The  work  of  disfigurement  began  without  de- 
lay. Anukis  moved  her  lips  as  busily  as  her  hands, 
and  described  in  regular  order  all  that  had  befallen 
her  during  the  eventful  day. 

Barine  listened  with  rising  excitement,  and  her 


yo  CLEOPATRA. 

joy  increased  as  she  beheld  the  path  which  had 
been  smoothed  for  her  by  the  care  and  wisdom  of 
her  friends.  Charmian,  on  the  contrary,  became 
graver  and  more  quiet  the  more  distinctly  she  per- 
ceived the  danger  her  favourite  must  encounter. 
Yet  she  could  not  help  admitting  that  it  would  be  a 
sin  against  Barine's  safety,  perhaps  her  very  life, 
to  withhold  her  from  this  well-considered  plan  of 
escape. 

That  it  must  be  tried  was  certain ;  but  as  the 
moment  which  was  to  endanger  the  woman  she 
loved  drew  nearer,  and  she  could  not  help  saying 
to  herself  that  she  was  aiding  an  enterprise  in  op- 
position to  the  express  command  of  the  Queen  and 
helping  to  execute  a  plan  which  threatened  to  rouse 
the  indignation,  perhaps  the  fury,  of  Cleopatra,  a 
feeling  of  sorrow  overpowered  her.  She  feared 
nothing  for  herself.  Not  for  a  single  instant  did 
she  think  of  the  unpleasant  consequences  which 
Barine's  escape  might  draw  upon  her.  The  burden 
on  her  soul  was  due  only  to  the  consciousness  of 
having,  for  the  first  time,  opposed  the  will  of  the 
sovereign,  to  fulfil  whose  desires  and  to  promote 
whose  aims  had  been  the  beloved  duty  of  her  life. 
Doubtless  the  thought  crossed  her  mind  that,  by 
aiding  Barine's  escape,  she  was  guarding  Cleopatra 
from  future  repentance ;  probably  she  felt  sure 
that  it  was  her  duty  to  help  rescue  this  beautiful 
young  life,  whose  bloom  had  been  so  cruelly  as- 
sailed by  tempest  and  hoar-frost,  and  which   now 


CLEOPATRA.  71 

had  a  prospect  of  the  purest  happiness ;  yet,  though 
in  itself  commendable,  the  deed  brought  her  into 
sharp  conflict  with  the  loftiest  aims  and  aspirations 
of  her  life.  And  how  much  nearer  than  the  other 
was  the  woman — she  shrank  from  the  word — whom 
she  was  about  to  betray,  how  much  greater  was 
Cleopatra's  claim  to  her  love  and  gratitude  !  Could 
she  have  any  other  emotion  than  thankfulness  if 
the  plan  of  escape  succeeded  ?  Yet  she  was  reluc- 
tant to  perform  the  task  of  making  Barine's  beauti- 
ful, symmetrical  figure  resemble  the  hunch-backed 
Nubian'^s,  or  to  dip  her  fingers  into  the  pomade 
intended  for  Cleopatra  ;  and  it  grieved  her  to  mar 
the  beauty  of  Barine's  luxuriant  tresses  by  cutting 
off  part  of  her  thick  fair  braids. 

True,  these  things  could  not  be  avoided,  if  the 
flight  was  to  succeed,  and  the  further  Anukis  ad- 
vanced in  her  story,  the  fewer  became  her  mistress's 
objections  to  the  plan. 

The  conversation  between  Iras  and  Alexas, 
which  had  been  overheard  by  the  maid,  already 
made  it  appear  necessary  to  withdraw  Barine  and 
her  lover  from  the  power  of  such  foes.  The  faith- 
ful man  whom  Anukis  had  found  with  Dion,  whose 
name  she  did  not  mention  and  of  whose  home  she 
said  only  that  no  safer  hiding-place  could  be  found, 
even  by  the  mole  which  burrowed  in  the  earth, 
really  seemed  to  have  been  sent  with  Gorgias  to 
Dion's  couch 'by  Fate  itself.  The  control  of  the 
subterranean  chambers  in  the  Temple  of  Isis  which 


72  CLEOPATRA. 

had  been  bestowed  on  the  architect,  also  appeared 
like  a  miracle. 

Upon  a  small  tablet,  which  the  wise  Aisopion 
had  intentionally  delayed  handing  to  her  mistress 
until  now,  were  the  lines  : 

"  Archibius  greets  his  sister  Charmian.  If  I 
know  your  heart,  it  will  be  as  hard  for  you  as  for 
me  to  share  this  plot,  yet  it  must  be  done  for  the 
sake  of  her  father,  to  save  the  life  and  happiness 
of  his  child.  So  it  must  fall  to  your  lot  to  bring 
Barine  to  the  Temple  of  Isis  at  the  Corner  of  the 
Muses.  She  will  find  her  lover  there  and^  if  pos- 
sible, be  wedded  to  him.  As  the  sanctuary  is  so 
near,  you  need  leave  the  palace  only  a  short  time. 
Do  not  tell  Barine  what  we  have  planned.  The 
disappointment  would  be  too  great  if  it  should 
prove  impracticable." 

This  letter  and  the  arrangement  it  proposed 
transformed  the  serious  scruples  which  shadowed 
Charmian's  good-will  into  a  joyous,  nay,  enthusi- 
astic desire  to  render  assistance.  Barine's  mar- 
riage to  the  man  who  possessed  her  heart  was 
close  at  hand,  and  she  was  the  daughter  of 
Leonax,  who  had  once  been  dear  to  her.  Fear 
and  doubt  vanished  as  if  scattered  to  the  four 
winds,  and  when  Aisopion's  work  of  transforma- 
tion was  completed  and  Barine  stood  before  her 
as  the  high-shouldered,  dark-visaged,  wrinkled 
maid,  she  could  not  help  admitting  that  it  would 
be  easy  to  escape  from  the  palace  in  that  disguise. 


CLEOPATRA.  73 

She  now  told  Barine  that  she  intended  to  ac- 
company her  herself;  and  though  the  former's 
•Stained  face  forced  her  to  refrain  from  kissing  her 
friend,  she  plainly  expressed  to  her  and  the  faith- 
ful freedwoman  the  overflowing  gratitude  which 
filled  her  heart. 

Anukis  was  left  alone.  After  carefully  re- 
moving all  the  traces  of  her  occupation,  as  habit 
dictated,  she  raised  her  arms  in  prayer,  beseeching 
the  gods  of  her  native  land  to  protect  the  beauti- 
ful woman  to  whom  she  had  loaned  her  own  mis- 
shapen form,  which  had  now  been  of  genuine  serv- 
ice, and  who  had  gone  forth  to  meet  so  many  dan- 
gers, but  also  a  happiness  whose  very  hope  had 
been  denied  to  her. 

Charmian  had  told  her  maid  that  if  the  Queen 
should  inquire  for  her  before  Iras  returned  from 
the  Choma  to  say  that  she  had  been  obliged  to 
leave  the  palace,  and  to  supply  her  place.  During 
their  absence,  when  Charmian  had  been  attacked 
by  sickness,  Cleopatra  had  often  entrusted  the  care 
of  her  toilet  to  Aisopion,  and  had  praised  her  skill. 

The  Queen's  confidential  attendant  was  fol- 
lowed as  usual  when  she  went  out  by  a  dark- 
skinned  maid.  Lanterns  and  lamps  had  already 
been  lighted  in  the  corridors  of  the  spacious  pal- 
ace, and  the  court-yards  were  ablaze  with  torches 
and  pitch-pans;  but,  brilliantly  as  they  burned  in 
many  places,  and  numerous  as  were  the  guards, 
officers,  eunuchs,   clerks,   so4diers,  cooks,  attend- 


74 


CLEOPATRA. 


ants,  slaves,  door-keepers,  and  messengers  whom 
they  passed,  not  one  gave  them  more  than  a  care- 
less glance. 

So  they  reached  the  last  court-yard,  and  then 
came  a  moment  when  the  hearts  of  both  women 
seemed  to  stop  beating — for  the  man  whom  they 
had  most  cause  to  dread,  Alexas  the  Syrian,  ap- 
proached. 

And  he  did  not  pass  the  fugitives,  but  stopped 
Charmian,  and  courteously,  even  obsequiously,  in- 
formed her  that  he  wished  to  get  rid  of  the  trou- 
blesome affair  of  her  favourite,  which  had  been 
assigned  to  him  against  his  will,  and  therefore 
had  determined  to  bring  Barine  to  trial  early  the 
following  morning. 

The  Syrian's  body-servant  attended  his  master, 
and  while  the  former  was  talking  with  Charmian 
the  latter  turned  to  the  supposed  Nubian,  tapped 
her  lightly  on  the  shoulder,  and  whispered:  ^'Come 
this  evening,  as  you  did  yesterday.  You  haven't 
finished  the  story  of  Prince  Setnau." 

The  fugitive  felt  as  if  she  had  grown  dumb 
and  could  never  more  regain  the  power  of  speech. 
Yet  she  managed  to  nod,  and  directly  after  the 
favourite  bowed  a  farewell  to  Charmian.  The 
Ligurian  was  obliged  to  follow  his  master,  while 
Charmian  and  Barine  passed  through  the  gateway 
between  the  last  pylons  into  the  open  air. 

Here  the  sea-breeze  seemed  to  waft  her  a  joy- 
ous greeting  from  the  realm  of  liberty  and  hap- 


CLEOPATRA.  75 

piness,  and  the  timid  woman,  amid  all  the  perils 
which  surrounded  her,  regained  sufficient  presence 
of  mind  to  tell  her  friend  what  Alexas's  slave  had 
whispered — that  Aisopion  might  remind  him  of  it 
the  same  evening,  and  thus  strengthen  his  belief 
that  the  Nubian  had  accompanied  the  Queen's 
confidante. 

The  way  to  the  Temple  of  Isis  was  short.  The 
stars  showed  that  they  would  reach  their  destina- 
tion in  time;  but  a  second  delay  unexpectedly  oc- 
curred. From  the  steps  leading  to  the  cella  of 
the  sanctuary  a  procession,  whose  length  seemed 
endless,  came  towards  them.  At  the  head  of  the 
train  marched  eight  pastophori,  bearing  the  image 
of  Isis.  Then  came  the  basket-bearers  of  the  god- 
dess with  several  other  priestesses,  followed  by  the 
reader  with  an  open  book-roll.  Behind  him  ap- 
peared the  quaternary  number  of  prophets,  whose 
head,  the  chief  priest,  moved  with  stately  dignity 
beneath  a  canopy.  The  rest  of  the  priestly  train 
bore  in  their  hands  manuscripts,  sacred  vessels, 
standards,  and  wreaths.  The  priestesses — some  of 
whom,  with  garlands  on  their  flowing  hair,  were 
already  shaking  the  sistrum  of  Isis — mingled  with 
the  line  of  priests,  their  high  voices  blending  with 
the  deep  notes  of  the  men.  Neokori,  or  temple 
servants,  and  a  large  number  of  worshippers  of 
Isis,  closed  the  procession,  all  wearing  wreaths 
and  carrying  flowers.  Torch  and  lantern  bearers 
lighted  the  way,  and  the  perfume  of  the  incense 


76 


CLEOPATRA. 


rising  from  the  little  pan  of  charcoal  in  the  hand 
of  a  bronze  arm,  which  the  pastophori  waved  to 
and  fro,  surrounded  and  floated  after  the  pro- 
cession. 

The  two  women  waiting  for  the  train  to  pass 
saw  it  turn  towards  Lochias,  and  the  conversation 
of  the  bystanders  informed  them  that  its  object 
was  to  convey  to  "the  new  Isis,"  the  Queen,  the 
greeting  of  the  goddess,  and  assure  the  sovereign 
of  the  divinity's  remembrance  of  her  in  the  hour 
of  peril. 

Cleopatra  could  not  help  accepting  this  friendly 
homage,  and  it  was  incumbent  upon  her  to  receive 
it  wearing  on  her  head  the  crown  of  Upper  and 
Lower  Egypt,  and  robed  in  all  the  ecclesiastical 
vestments  which  only  her  two  most  trusted  at- 
tendants knew  how  to  put  on  with  the  attention 
to  details  that  custom  required.  This  had  never 
been  entrusted  to  maids  of  inferior  position  like 
the  Nubian  ;  so  Cleopatra  would  miss  Charmian. 

The  thought  filled  her  with  fresh  uneasiness 
and,  when  the  steps  were  at  last  free,  she  asked 
herself  anxiously  how  all  this  would  end. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  fugitive  and  her  companion 
had  exposed  themselves  to  this  great  peril  in  vain; 
for  some  of  the  temple  servants  were  forcing  back 
those  who  wished  to  enter  the  sanctuary,  shouting 
that  it  would  be  closed  until  the  return  of  the  pro- 
cession. Barine  gazed  timidly  into  Charmian's 
face;  but,  ere  she  could  express  her  opinion,  the 


CLEOPATRA. 


77 


tall  figure  of  a  man  appeared  on  the  temple  steps. 
It  was  Archibius,  who  with  grave  composure  bade 
them  follow  him,  and  silently  led  them  around  the 
sanctuary  to  a  side  door,  through  which,  a  short 
time  before,  a  litter  had  passed,  accompanied  by 
several  attendants. 

Ascending  a  flight  of  steps  within  the  long 
building,  they  reached  the  dimly  lighted  cella. 

As  in  the  Temple  of  Osiris  at  Abydos  seven 
corridors,  here  three  led  to  the  same  number  of 
apartments,  the  holy  place  of  the  sanctuary.  The 
central  one  was  dedicated  to  Isis,  that  on  the  left 
to  her  husband  Osiris,  and  that  on  the  right  to 
Horus,  the  son  of  the  great  goddess.  Before  it, 
scarcely  visible  in  the  dim  light,  stood  the  altars, 
loaded  with  sacrifices  by  Archibius. 

Beside  that  of  Horus  was  the  litter  which  had 
been  borne  into  the  temple  before  the  arrival  of 
the  women.  From  it,  supported  by  two  friends, 
descended  a  slender  young  man. 

A  hollow  sound  echoed  through  the  pillared  hall. 
The  iron  door  at  the  main  entrance  of  the  temple 
had  been  closed.  The  shrill  rattle  that  followed 
proceeded  from  the  metal  bolts  which  an  old  serv- 
ant of  the  sanctuary  had  shot  into  the  sockets. 

Barine  started,  but  neither  inquired  the  cause  of 
the  noise  nor  perceived  the  wealth  of  objects  here 
presented  to  the  senses  ;  for  the  man  who,  leaning 
on  another's  arm,  approached  the  altar,  was  Dion, 
the  lover  who  had  perilled  his  life  for  her  sake.  Her 
26 


78 


CLEOPATRA. 


eyes  rested  intently  on  his  figure,  her  whole  heart 
yearned  towards  him  and,  unable  to  control  her- 
self, she  called  his  name  aloud. 

Charmian  gazed  anxiously  around  the  group, 
but  soon  uttered  a  sigh  of  relief;  for  the  tall  man 
whose  arm  supported  Dion  was  Gorgias,  the  worthy 
architect,  his  best  friend,  and  the  other,  still  taller 
and  stronger,  her  own  brother  Archibius.  Yonder 
figure,  emerging  from  the  disguise  of  wraps,  was 
Berenike,  Barine's  mother.  All  trustworthy  con- 
fidants !  The  only  person  whom  she  did  not  know 
was  the  handsome  young  man  standing  at  her 
brother's  side. 

Barine,  whose  arm  she  still  held,  had  struggled 
to  escape  to  rush  to  her  mother  and  lover  ;  but 
Archibius  had  approached,  and  in  a  whisper  warned 
her  to  be  patient  and  to  refrain  from  any  greeting 
or  question,  **  supposing,"  he  added,  "  that  you  are 
willing  to  be  married  at  this  altar  to  Dion,  the  son 
of  Eumenes." 

Charmian  felt  Barine's  arm  tremble  in  hers  at 
this  suggestion,  but  the  young  beauty  obeyed  her 
friend's  directions.  She  did  not  know  what  had  be- 
fallen her,  or  whether,  in  the  excess  of  happiness 
which  overwhelmed  her,  to  shout  aloud  in  her  ex- 
ultant joy,  or  melt  into  silent  tears  of  gratitude 
and  emotion. 

No  one  spoke.  Archibius  took  a  roll  of  manu- 
script from  Dion's  hand,  presented  himself  before 
the  assembled  company  as  the  bride's  kyrios,  or 


CLEOPATRA.  79 

guardian,  and  asked  Barine  whether  she  so  recog- 
nized him.  Then  he  returned  to  Dion  the  mar- 
riage contract,  whose  contents  he  knew  and  ap- 
proved, and  informed  those  present  that,  in  the 
marriage  about  to  be  solemnized,  they  must  con- 
sider him  the  paranymphos,  or  best  man,  and 
Berenike  as  the  bridesmaid,  and  they  instantly 
lighted  a  torch  at  the  fires  burning  on  one  of  the 
altars.  Archibius,  as  kyrios,  joined  the  lovers' 
hands  in  the  Egyptian — Barine's  mother,  as  brides- 
maid, in  the  Greek — manner,  and  Dion  gave  his 
bride  a  plain  iron  ring.  It  was  the  same  one  which 
his  father  had  bestowed  at  his  own  wedding,  and 
he  whispered :  "  My  mother  valued  it ;  now  it  is 
your  turn  to  honour  the  ancient  treasure." 

After  stating  that  the  necessary  sacrifices  had 
been  offered  to  Isis  and  Serapis,  Zeus,  Hera,  and 
Artemis,  and  that  the  marriage  between  Dion,  son 
of  Eumenes,  and  Barine,  daughter  of  Leonax,  was 
concluded,  Archibius  shook  hands  with  both. 

Haste  seemed  necessary,  for  he  permitted  Bere- 
nike and  his  sister  only  time  for  a  brief  embrace, 
and  Gorgias  to  clasp  her  hand  and  Dion's.  Then 
he  beckoned,  and  the  newly  made  bride's  mother 
followed  him  in  tears,  Charmian  bewildered  and 
almost  stupefied.  She  did  not  fully  realize  the 
meaning  of  the  event  she  had  just  witnessed  until 
an  old  neokori  had  guided  her  and  the  others  into 
the  open  air. 

Barine  felt  as  if   every  moment   might  rouse 


8o  CLEOPATRA. 

her  from  a  blissful  dream,  and  yet  she  gladly  told 
herself  that  she  was  awake,  for  the  man  walking 
before  her,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  friend,  was 
Dion.  True,  she  saw,  even  in  the  faint  light  of  the 
dim  temple  corridor,  that  he  was  suffering.  Walking 
appeared  to  be  so  difficult  that  she  rejoiced  when, 
yielding  to  Gorgias's  entreaties,  he  entered  the 
litter. 

But  where  were  the  bearers  ? 

She  was  soon  to  learn  ;  for,  even  while  she 
looked  for  them,  the  architect  and  the  youth,  in 
whom  she  had  long  since  recognized  Philotas,  her 
grandfather's  assistant,  seized  the  poles. 

"  Follow  us,"  said  Gorgias,  under  his  breath, 
and  she  obeyed,  keeping  close  behind  the  litter, 
which  was  borne  first  down  a  broad  and  then 
a  narrow  staircase,  and  finally  along  a  passage. 
Here  a  door  stopped  the  fugitives ;  but  the  archi- 
tect opened  it  and  helped  his  friend  out  of  the  lit- 
ter, which  before  prcceeding  farther  he  placed  in  a 
room  filled  with  various  articles  discovered  during 
his  investigation  of  the  subterranean  temple  cham- 
bers. 

Hitherto  not  a  word  had  been  spoken.  Now 
Gorgias  called  to  Barine  :  "  This  passage  is  low — 
you  must  stoop.  Cover  your  head,  and  don't  be 
afraid  if  you  meet  bats.  They  have  long  been 
undisturbed.  We  might  have  taken  you  from  the 
temple  to  the  sea,  and  waited  there,  but  it  would 
probably  have  attracted  attention  and  been  danger- 


CLEOPATRA.  gl 

ous.  Courage,  young  wife  of  Dion  !  The  corridor 
is  long,  and  walking  through  it  is  difficult ;  but 
compared  with  the  road  to  the  mines,  it  is  as  smooth 
and  easy  as  the  Street  of  the  King.  If  you  think 
of  your  destination,  the  bats  will  seem  like  the 
swallows  which  announce  the  approach  of  spring." 

Barine  nodded  gratefully  to  him  ;  but  she  kissed 
the  hand  of  Dion,  who  was  moving  forward  pain- 
fully, leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  friend.  The  light 
of  the  torch  carried  by  Gorgias's  faithful  foreman, 
who  led  the  way,  had  fallen  on  her  blackened  arm, 
and  when  the  little  party  advanced  she  kept  be- 
hind the  others.  She  thought  it  might  be  unpleas- 
ant for  her  lover  to  see  her  thus  disfigured,  and 
spared  him,  though  she  would  gladly  have  re- 
mained nearer.  As  soon  as  the  passage  grew 
lower,  the  wounded  man's  friends  took  him  in  their 
arms,  and  their  task  was  a  hard  one,  for  they  were 
not  only  obliged  to  move  onward  bending  low 
under  the  heavy  burden,  but  also  to  beat  off  the 
bats  which,  frightened  by  the  foreman's  torch,  flew 
up  in  hosts. 

Barine's  hair  was  covered,  it  is  true,  but  at  any 
other  time  the  hideous  creatures,  which  often 
brushed  against  her  head  and  arms,  would  have 
filled  her  with  horror  and  loathing.  Now  she 
scarcely  heeded  them ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
recumbent  figure  in  the  bearers'  arms,  the  man 
to  whom  she  belonged,  body  and  soul,  and  whose 
patient  suffering  pierced  her  inmost  heart.      His 


82  CLEOPATRA. 

head  rested  on  the  breast  of  Gorgias,  who  walked 
directly  in  front  of  her;  the  architect's  stooping 
posture  concealed  his  face,  but  his  feet  were  visi- 
ble and,  whenever  they  twitched,  she  fancied  he 
was  in  pain.  Then  she  longed  to  press  forward 
to  his  side,  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  brow  in 
the  hot,  low  corridor,  and  whisper  words  of  love 
and  encouragement. 

This  she  was  sometimes  permitted  to  do  when 
the  friends  put  down  their  heavy  burden.  True, 
they  allowed  themselves  only  brief  intervals  of 
rest,  but  they  were  long  enough  to  show  her  how 
the  sufferer's  strength  was  failing.  When  they  at 
last  reached  their  destination,  Philotas  was  forced 
to  exert  all  his  strength  to  support  the  exhausted 
man,  while  Gorgias  cautiously  opened  the  door. 
It  led  to  a  flight  of  sea-washed  steps  close  to  the 
garden  of  Didymus,  which  as  a  child  she  had  often 
used  with  her  brother  to  float  a  little  boat  upon  the 
water. 

The  architect  opened  the  door  only  a  short  dis- 
tance ;  he  was  expected,  for  Barine  soon  heard  him 
whisper,  and  suddenly  the  door  was  flung  wide.  A 
tall  man  raised  Dion  and  bore  him  into  the  open 
air.  While  she  was  still  gazing  after  him,  a  second 
figure  of  equal  size  approached  her  and,  hastily 
begging  her  permission,  lifted  her  in  his  arms  like  a 
child,  and  as  she  inhaled  the  cool  night  air  and  felt 
the  water  through  which  her  bearer  waded  splash 
up  and  wet  her  feet,  her  eyes  sought  her  new-made 


CLEOPATRA.  83 

husband — but  in  vain  ;  the  night  was  very  dark, 
and  the  lights  on  the  shore  did  not  reach  this  spot 
so  far  below  the  walls  of  the  quay. 

Barine  was  frightened ;  but  a  few  minutes  after 
the  outlines  of  a  large  fishing  boat  loomed  through 
the  darkness,  dimly  illummed  by  the  harbour 
lights,  and  the  next  instant  the  giant  who  carried 
her  placed  her  on  the  deck,  and  a  deep  voice  whis- 
pered :  "All's  well.     I'll  bring  some  wine  at  once." 

Then  Barine  saw  her  husband  lying  motionless 
on  a  couch  which  had  been  prepared  for  him  in  the 
prow  of  the  boat.  Bending  over  him,  she  perceived 
that  he  had  fainted,  and  while  rubbing  his  forehead 
with  the  wine,  raising  his  head  on  her  lap,  cheering 
him,  and  afterwards  by  the  light  of  a  small  lantern 
carefully  renewing  the  bandage  on  his  shoulder, 
she  did  not  notice  that  the  vessel  was  moving 
through  the  water  until  the  boatman  set  the  tri- 
angular sail. 

She  had  not  been  told  where  the  boat  was 
bearing  her,  and  she  did  not  ask.  Any  spot  that 
she  could  share  with  Dion  was  welcome.  The 
more  lonely  the  place,  the  more  she  could  be  to 
him.  How  her  heart  swelled  with  gratitude  and 
love  !  When  she  bent  over  him,  kissed  his  fore- 
head, and  felt  how  feverishly  it  burned,  she 
thought,  "  I  will  nurse  you  back  to  health,"  and 
raised  her  eyes  and  soul  to  her  favourite  god,  to 
whom  she  owed  the  gift  of  song,  and  who  under- 
stood  everything    beautiful    and   pure,   to   thank 


84  CLEOPATRA. 

Phoebus  Apollo  and  beseech  him  to  pour  his  rays 
the  next  morning  on  a  convalescent  man.  While 
she  was  still  engaged  in  prayer  the  boat  touched 
the  shore.  Again  strong  arms  bore  her  and  Dion 
to  the  land,  and  when  her  foot  touched  the  solid 
earth,  her  rescuer,  the  freedman  Pyrrhus,  broke 
the  silence,  saying  :"  Welcome,  wife  of  Dion,  to 
our  island !  True,  you  must  be  satisfied  to  take  us 
as  we  are.  But  if  you  are  as  content  with  us  as 
we  are  glad  to  serve  you  and  your  lord,  who  is 
ours  also,  the  hour  of  leave-taking  will  be  far  dis- 
tant." 

Then,  leading  the  way  to  the  house,  he  showed 
her  as  her  future  apartments  two  large  white- 
washed rooms,  whose  sole  ornament  was  their  ex- 
quisite neatness. 

On  the  threshold  stood  Pyrrhus's  grey-haired 
wife,  a  young  woman,  and  a  girl  scarcely  beyond 
childhood ;  but  the  older  one  modestly  welcomed 
Barine,  and  also  begged  her  to  accept  their  hos- 
pitality. Recovery  was  rapid  in  the  pure  air  of 
the  Serpent  Isle.  She  herself,  and — she  pointed  to 
the  others — her  oldest  son's  wife,  and  her  own 
daughter,  Dione,  would  be  ready  to  render  her  any 
service. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Brothers  and  sisters  are  rarely  talkative  when 
they  are  together.  As  Charmian  went  to  Lochias 
with  Archibius,  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  find 
words,  the  events  of  the  past  few  hours  had  agi- 
tated her  so  deeply.  Archibius,  too,  could  not 
succeed  in  turning  his  thoughts  in  any  other  direc- 
tion, though  important  and  far  more  momentous 
things  claimed  his  attention. 

They  walked  on  silently  side  by  side.  In  reply 
to  his  sister's  inquiry  where  the  newly  wedded  pair 
were  to  be  concealed,  he  had  answered  that,  spite 
of  her  trustworthiness,  this  must  remain  a  secret. 
To  her  second  query,  how  had  it  been  possible  to 
use  the  interior  of  the  Temple  of  Isis  without  in- 
terruption, he  also  made  a  guarded  reply. 

In  fact,  it  was  the  control  of  the  subterranean 
corridors  of  the  sanctuary  which  had  suggested  to 
Gorgias  the  idea  of  carrying  Dion  through  them 
to  Pyrrhus's  fishing-boat.  To  accomplish  this  it 
was  only  necessary  to  have  the  Temple  of  Isis, 
which  usually  remained  open  day  and  night,  left 
to  the  fugitive's  friends  for  a  short  time ;  and  this 
was  successfully  managed. 


86  CLEOPATRA. 

The  historian  Timagenes,  who  had  come  from 
Rome  as  ambassador  and  claimed  the  hospitality 
of  his  former  pupil  Archibius,  had  been  empowered 
to  offer  Cleopatra  recognition  of  her  own  and  her 
children's  right  to  the  throne,  and  a  full  pardon,  if 
she  would  deliver  Mark  Antony  into  the  hands  of 
Octavianus,  or  have  him  put  to  death. 

The  Alexandrian  Timagenes  considered  this 
demand  both  just  and  desirable,  because  it  prom- 
ised to  deliver  his  native  city  from  the  man  whose 
despotic  arrogance  menaced  its  freedom,  and  whose 
lavish  generosity  and  boundless  love  of  splendour 
diminished  its  wealth.  To  Rome,  as  whose  repre- 
sentative the  historian  appeared,  this  man's  mere 
existence  meant  constant  turmoil  and  civil  war. 
At  the  restoration  of  the  flute-player  by  Gabinius 
and  Mark  Antony,  Timagenes  had  been  carried 
into  slavery.  Later,  when,  after  his  freedom  had 
been  purchased  by  the  son  of  Sulla,  he  succeeded 
in  attaining  great  influence  in  Rome,  he  still  re- 
mained hostile  to  Mark  Antony,  and  it  had  been  a 
welcome  charge  to  work  against  him  in  Alexan- 
dria. He  hoped  to  find  an  ally  in  Archibius,  whose 
loyal  devotion  to  the  Queen  he  knew.  Arius,  Ba- 
rine's  uncle  and  Octavianus's  former  tutor,  would 
also  aid  him.  The  most  powerful  support  of  his 
mission,  however,  could  be  rendered  by  the  ven- 
erable chief  priest,  the  head  of  the  whole  Egyptian 
hierarchy.  He  had  shown  the  latter  that  Antony, 
in  any  case,  was  a  lost  man,  and  Egypt  was  in  the 


CLEOPATRA.  87 

act  of  dropping  like  a  ripe  fruit  into  the  lap  of 
Octavianus.  It  would  soon  be  in  his  power  to 
give  the  country  whatever  degree  of  liberty  anS 
independence  he  might  choose.  The  Caesar  had 
the  sole  disposal  of  the  Queen's  fate  also,  and  who- 
ever desired  to  see  her  remain  on  the  throne  must 
strive  to  gain  the  good-will  of  Octavianus. 

The  wise  Anubis  had  considered  all  these  things, 
but  he  owed  to  Timagenes  the  hint  that  Arius  was 
the  man  whom  Octavianus  most  trusted.  So  the 
august  prelate  secretly  entered  into  communica- 
tion with  Barine's  uncle.  But  the  dignity  of  his 
high  office,  and  the  feebleness  of  extreme  age,  for- 
bade Anubis  to  seek  the  man  who  was  suspected 
of  friendship  for  the  Romans.  He  had  therefore 
sent  his  trusted  secretary,  the  young  Serapion,  to 
make  a  compact  as  his  representative  with  the 
friend  of  Octavianus,  whose  severe  injuries  pre- 
vented his  leaving  the  house  to  go  to  the  chief 
priest. 

During  Timagenes's  negotiations  with  the  sec- 
retary and  Arius,  Archibius  came  to  entreat  Ba- 
rine's uncle  to  do  everything  in  his  power  to  save 
his  niece ;  and,  as  all  the  Queen's  friends  were 
anxious  to  prevent  an  act  which,  in  these  times  of 
excitement,  could  not  fail,  on  account  of  its  con- 
nection with  Dion,  a  member  of  the  Council,  to 
rouse  a  large  number  of  the  citizens  against  her, 
Serapion,  as  soon  as  he  was  made  aware  of  the 
matter,  eagerly  protested  his  readiness  to  do  his 


88  CLEOPATRA. 

best  to  save  the  imperilled  lovers.  He  cared  noth- 
ing for  Barine  or  Dion  as  individuals,  but  he  doubt- 
less would  have  been  ready  to  make  a  still  greater 
sacrifice  to  win  the  influential  Archibius,  and  espe- 
cially Arius,  who  would  have  great  power  through 
Octavianus,  the  rising  sun. 

The  men  had  just  begun  to  discuss  plans  for 
saving  Barine,  when  the  Nubian  appeared  and  told 
Archibius  what  had  been  arranged  beside  Dion's 
sick-bed  by  the  freedman  and  Gorgias.  The  es- 
cape of  the  fugitives  depended  solely  upon  their 
reaching  the  boat  unseen,  and  the  surest  way  to 
accomplish  this  was  to  use  the  subterranean  pas- 
sage which  the  architect  had  again  opened. 

Archibius,  to  whom  the  representative  of  the 
chief  priest  had  offered  his  aid,  now  took  the 
others  into  his  confidence,  and  Arius  proposed  that 
Barine  should  marry  Dion  in  the  Temple  of  Isis, 
and  the  couple  should  afterwards  be  guided  through 
the  secret  passage  to  the  boat.  This  proposal  was 
approved,  and  Serapion  promised  to  reserve  the 
sanctuary  for  the  wedding  of  the  fugitives  for  a 
short  time  after  the  departure  of  the  procession, 
which  was  to  take  place  at  sunset.  In  return  for 
this  service  another  might  perhaps  soon  be  re- 
quested from  the  friend  of  Octavianus,  who  greet- 
ed his  promise  with  grateful  warmth. 

"  The  priesthood,'*  said  Serapion,  "  takes  sides 
with  all  who  are  unjustly  persecuted,  and  in  this 
case  bestows  aid  the  more  willingly  on  account  of 


CLEOPATRA.  89 

its  great  anxiety  to  guard  the  Queen  from  an  act 
which  would  be  difficult  to  approve."  As  for  the 
fugitives,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  only  two  possi- 
bilities were  open  to  them  :  Cleopatra  would  cleave 
to  Mark  Antony  and  go — would  that  the  immor- 
tals might  avert  it ! — to  ruin,  or  she  would  sacri- 
fice him  and  save  her  throne  and  life.  In  both 
cases  the  endangered  lovers  could  soon  return 
uninjured — the  Queen  had  a  merciful  heart,  and 
never  retained  anger  long  if  no  guilt  existed. 

The  details  of  the  plan  were  then  settled  by 
Archibius,  Anukis,  and  Berenike,  who  was  with 
the  family  of  Arius,  and  the  decision  was  commu- 
nicated to  the  architect.  Archibius  had  main- 
tained the  same  silence  concerning  the  destination 
of  the  fugitives  towards  the  men  composing  the 
council  and  Barine's  mother  as  to  his  sister.  With 
regard  to  the  mission  of  Timagenes  and  the  polit- 
ical questions  which  occupied  his  mind,  he  gave 
Charmian  only  the  degree  of  information  neces- 
sary to  explain  the  plan  she  so  lovingly  promoted; 
but  she  had  no  desire  to  know  more.  On  the  way 
home  her  mind  was  wholly  absorbed  by  the  fear 
that  Cleopatra  had  missed  her  services  and  dis- 
covered Barine's  flight.  True,  she  mentioned  the 
Queen's  desire  to  place  her  children  in  Archibius's 
charge,  but  she  could  not  give  him  full  particulars 
until  she  reached  her  own  apartments. 

Her  absence  had  not  been  noticed.  The  Re- 
gent Mardion  had  received  the  procession  in  the 


90  CLEOPATRA. 

Queen's  name,  for  Cleopatra  had  driven  into  the 
city,  na  one  knew  where. 

Charmian  entered  her  apartments  with  a  lighter 
heart.  Anukis  opened  the  door  to  them.  She  had 
remained  undisturbed,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  Ar- 
chibius  to  give  the  faithful,  clever  freedwoman  an 
account  of  the  matter  with  his  own  lips.  He  could 
have  bestowed  no  richer  reward  upon  the  modest 
servant,  who  listened  to  his  words  as  if  they  were 
a  revelation.  When  she  disclaimed  the  thanks 
with  which  he  concluded,  protesting  that  she  was 
the  person  under  obligation,  the  expression  was 
sincere.  Her  keen  intellect  instantly  recognized 
the  aristocrat's  manner  of  addressing  an  equal  or 
an  inferior ;  and  he  who,  in  her  eyes,  was  the  first 
of  men,  had  described  the  course  of  events  as 
though  she  had  stood  on  the  same  level.  The 
Queen  herself  might  have  been  satisfied  with  the 
report. 

When  she  left  Charmian's  rooms  to  join  the 
other  servants,  she  told  herself  that  she  was  an 
especially  favoured  mortal ;  and  when  a  young 
cook  teased  her  about  her  head  being  sunk  be- 
tween her  shoulders,  she  answered,  laughing : 
*^  My  shoulders  have  grown  so  high  because  I 
shrug  them  so  often  at  the  fools  who  jeer  at  me 
and  yet  are  not  half  so  happy  and  grateful." 

Charmian,  sorely  wearied,  had  flung  herself 
into  an  arm-chair,  and  Archibius  took  his  place 
opposite  to  her.     They  were  happy  in  each  other's 


CLEOPATRA. 


91 


society,  even  when  silent ;  but  to-day  the  hearts 
of  both  were  so  full  that  they  fared  like  those 
who  are  so  worn  out  by  fatigue  that  they  cannot 
sleep.  How  much  they  had  to  tell  each  other ! — yet 
it  was  long  ere  Charmian  broke  the  silence  and 
returned  to  the  subject  of  the  Queen's  wish,  de- 
scribing to  her  brother  Cleopatra's  visit  to  the 
house  which  the  children  had  built,  how  kind  and 
cordial  she  had  been ;  yet,  a  few  minutes  later,  in- 
censed by  the  mere  mention  of  Barine's  name,  she 
had  dismissed  her  so  ungraciously. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  intend,"  she  said  in 
conclusion,  "  but,  notwithstanding  my  love  for  her, 
I  must  perhaps  decide  in  favour  of  what  is  most 
difficult,  for — when  she  learns  that  it  was  I  who 
withdrew  the  daughter  of  Leonax  from  her  and 
the  base  Alexas — what  treatment  can  I  expect, 
especially  as  Iras  no  longer  gives  me  the  same 
affection,  and  shows  that  she  has  forgotten  my 
love  and  care  ?  This  will  increase,  and  the  worst  of 
the  matter  is,  that  if  the  Queen  begins  to  favour  her, 
I  cannot  justly  reproach  her,  for  Iras  is  keener- 
witted,  and  has  a  more  active  brain.  Statecraft 
was  always  odious  to  me.  Iras,  on  the  contrary, 
is  delighted  with  the  opportunity  to  speak  on 
subjects  connected  with  the  government  of  the 
country,  and  especially  the  ceaseless,  momentous 
game  with  Rome  and  the  men  who  guide  her 
destiny." 

"  That  game  is  lost,"  Archibius  broke  in  with 


92 


CLEOPATRA. 


SO  much  earnestness  that  Charmian  started,  repeat- 
ing in  a  low,  timid  tone : 

"  Lost  ? " 

"  Forever,"  said  Archibius,  "  unless " 

"  The  Olympians  be  praised — that  there  is  still 
a  doubt." 

^'  Unless  Cleopatra  can  decide  to  commit  an  act 
which  will  force  her  to  be  faithless  to  herself,  and 
destroy  her  noble  image  through  all  future  gen- 
erations." 

"How?" 

"  Whenever  you  learn  it,  will  be  too  soon." 

"  And  suppose  she  should  do  it,  Archibius  ? 
You  are  her  most  trusted  confidant.  She  will 
place  in  your  charge  what  she  loves  more  than  she 
does  herself." 

"  More  ?    You  mean,  I  suppose,  the  children  ? " 

"The  children!  Yes,  a  hundred  times  yes. 
She  loves  them  better  than  aught  else  on  earth. 
For  them,  believe  me,  she  would  be  ready  to  go  to 
her  death." 

"  Let  us  hope  so." 

"  And  you — were  she  to  commit  the  horrible 
deed — I  can  only  suspect  what  it  is.  But  should 
she  descend  from  the  height  which  she  has  hitherto 
occupied — would  you  still  be  ready " 

"  With  me,"  he  interrupted  quietly,  "  what  she 
does  or  does  not  do  matters  nothing.  She  is 
unhappy  and  will  be  plunged  deeper  and  deeper 
into  misery.     I  know  this,  and  it  constrains  me  to 


CLEOPATRA. 


93 


exert  my  utmost  powers  in  her  service.  I  am  hers 
as  the  hermit  consecrated  to  Serapis  belongs  to 
the  god.  His  every  thought  must  be  devoted  to 
him.  To  the  deity  who  created  him  he  dedicates 
body  and  soul  until  the  death  to  which  he  dooms 
him.  The  bonds  which  unite  me  to  this  woman — 
you  know  their  origin — are  not  less  indestructible. 
Whatever  she  desires  whose  fulfilment  will  not 
force  me  to  despise  myself  is  granted  in  advance.'* 

"  She  will  never  require  such  things  from  the 
friend  of  her  childhood,"  cried  Charmian.  Then, 
approaching  him  with  both  arms  extended  joyfully, 
she  exclaimed  :  "  Thus  you  ought  to  speak  and  feel, 
and  therein  is  the  answer  to  the  question  which  has 
agitated  my  soul  since  yesterday.  Barine's  flight, 
the  favour  and  disfavour  of  Cleopatra,  Iras,  my 
poor  head,  which  abhors  politics,  while  at  this  time 
the  Queen  needs  keen-sighted  confidants " 

**  By  no  means,"  her  brother  interrupted.  "  It 
is  for  men  alone  to  give  counsel  in  these  matters. 
Accursed  be  women's  gossip  over  their  toilet 
tables !  It  has  already  scattered  to  the  four  winds 
many  a  well-considered  plan  of  the  wisest  heads, 
and  an  Iras  could  never  be  more  fatal  to  statecraft 
than  just  at  the  present  moment,  had  not  Fate 
already  uttered  the  final  verdict." 

"  Then  hence  with  these  scruples,"  cried  Char- 
mian eagerly ;  "  my  doubts  are  at  an  end  !  As  usual, 
you  point  out  the  right  path.  I  had  thought  of 
returning  to  the  country  estate  we  call  Irenia — the 
27 


94  CLEOPATRA. 

abode  of  peace— or  to  our  beloved  little  palace 
at  Kanopus,  to  spend  the  years  which  may  still 
be  allotted  to  me,  and  return  to  everything  that . 
made  my  childhood  beautiful.  The  philosophers, 
the  flowers  in  the  garden,  the  poets — even  the  new 
Roman  ones,  of  whose  works  Timagenes  sent  us 
such  charming  specimens — would  enliven  the  soli- 
tude. The  child,  the  daughter  of  the  man  whose 
love  I  renounced,  and  afterwards  perhaps  her  sons 
and  daughters,  would  fill  the  place  of  my  own.  As 
they  would  have  been  dear  to  Leonax,  I,  too,  would 
have  loved  them!  This  is  the  guise  in  which  the 
future  has  appeared  to  me  in  many  a  quiet  hour. 
But  shall  Charmian — who,  when  her  heart  throbbed 
still  more  warmly  and  life  lay  fair  before  her,  laid 
her  first  love  upon  the  altar  of  sacrifice  for  her 
royal  playfellow — abandon  Cleopatra  in  misfortune 
from  mere  selfish  scruples  ?  No,  no  ! — Like  you,  I 
too  belong — come  what  may — to  the  Queen." 

She  gazed  into  her  brother's  face,  sure  of  his 
approval  but,  waving  his  uplifted  hand,  he  answered 
gravely :  "  No,  Charmian  !  What  I,  a  man,  can 
assume,  might  be  fatal  to  you,  a  woman.  The 
present  is  not  sweet  enough  for  me  to  embitter  it 

with  wormwood   from   the    future.     And  yet 

You  must  cast  one  glance  into  its  gloomy  domain, 
in  order  to  understand  me.  You  can  be  silent, 
and  what  you  now  learn  will  be  a  secret  between 
us.  Only  one  thing  " — here  he  lowered  the  loud 
tones  of  his  deep  voice — **  only  one  thing  can  save 


CLEOPATRA.  gj 

her :  the  murder  of  Antony,  or  an  act  of  shameless 
treachery  which  would  deliver  him  into  Octavi- 
anus's  power.  This  is  the  proposal  Timagenes 
brought." 

"  This  ?  '*  she  asked  in  a  hollow  tone,  her  grey 
head  drooping. 

"  This,"  he  repeated  firmly.  '*  And  if  she  suc- 
cumbs to  the  temptation,  she  will  be  faithless  to 
the  love  which  has  coursed  through  her  whole  life 
as  the  Nile  flows  through  the  land  of  her  ancestors. 
Then,  Charmian,  stay,  stay  under  any  circumstances, 
cling  to  her  more  firmly  than  ever,  for  then,  then, 
my  sister,  she  will  be  more  wretched — ten,  a  hun- 
dred fold  more  wretched  than  if  Octavianus  de- 
prives her  of  everything,  perhaps  even  life  itself." 

"  Nor  will  I  leave  her,  come  what  may.  I  will 
remain  at  her  side  until  the  end,"  cried  Charmian 
eagerly.  But  Archibius,  without  noticing  the  en- 
thusiastic ardor,  so  unusual  to  his  sister's  quiet 
nature,  calmly  continued  :  "  She  won  your  heart 
also,  and  it  seems  impossible  for  you  to  desert  her. 
Many  have  shared  our  feelings ;  and  it  is  no  dis- 
grace to  any  one.  Misfortune  is  a  weapon  which 
cleaves  base  natures  like  a  sword,  yet  like  a  ham- 
mer welds  noble  ones  more  closely.  To  you,  there- 
fore, it  now  seems  doubly  difficult  to  leave  her,  but 
you  need  love.  The  right  to  live  and  guard  your- 
self from  the  most  pitiable  retrogression  is  your 
due,  as  much  as  that  of  the  rare  woman  on  the 
throne.    So  long  as  you  are  sure  of  her  love,  remain 


g6  CLEOPATRA. 

with  her,  and  show  your  devotion  in  every  situa- 
tion until  the  end.  But  the  motives  which  were 
drawing  you  away  to  books,  flowers,  and  children, 
weigh  heavily  in  the  balance,  and  if  you  lack  the 
anchor  of  her  favour  and  love,  I  shall  see  you  perish 
miserably.  The  frost  emanating  from  Cleopatra, 
if  her  heart  grew  cold  to  you,  the  pin-pricks  with 
which  Iras  would  assail  you,  were  you  defenceless, 
would  kill  you.     This  must  not  be,  sister;  we  will 

guard  against  it Do  not  interrupt  me.     The 

counsel  I  advise  you  to  follow  has  been  duly 
weighed.  If  you  see  that  the  Queen  still  loves  you 
as  in  former  days,  clmg  to  her;  but  should  you 
learn  the  contrary,  bid  her  farewell  to-morrow. 
My  Irenia  is  yours " 

"  But  she  does  love  me,  and  even  should  she  no 
longer " 

*'  The  test  is  at  hand.  We  will  leave  the  de- 
cision to  her.  You  shall  confess  that  you  were 
the  culprit  who  aided  Barine  to  escape  her  power 
to  punish." 

"  Archibius !  " 

"  If  you  did  not,  a  series  of  falsehoods  must 
ensue.  Try  whether  the  petty  qualities  in  her 
nature,  which  urged  her  to  commit  the  fate  of 
Leonax's  daughter  to  unworthy  hands,  are  more 
powerful  than  the  nobler  ones.  Try  whether  she 
is  worthy  of  the  self-sacrificing  fidelity  which  you 
have  given  her  all  your  life.  If  she  remains  the 
same  as  before,  spite  of  this  admission " 


CLEOPATRA.  97 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  Anukis,  who  asked 
if  her  mistress  would  see  Iras  at  this  late  hour. 

"Admit  her,"  replied  Archibius,  after  hastily 
exchanging  glances  with  his  sister,  whose  face  had 
paled  at  his  demand.  He  perceived  it  and,  as  the 
servant  withdrew,  he  clasped  her  hand,  saying  with 
earnest  affection :  "  I  gave  you  my  opinion,  but  at 
our  age  we  must  take  counsel  with  ourselves,  and 
you  will  find  the  right  path." 

"  I  have  already  found  it,"  she  answered  softly 
with  downcast  eyes.  **  This  visitor  brought  a 
speedy  decision.  I  must  not  feel  ashamed  in 
Iras's  presence." 

She  had  scarcely  finished  speaking  when  the 
Queen's  younger  confidante  entered.  She  was  ex- 
cited and,  after  casting  a  searching  glance  around 
the  familiar  room,  she  asked,  after  a  curt  greeting : 
"  No  one  knows  where  the  Queen  has  gone.  Mar- 
dion  received  the  procession  in  her  place.  Did 
she  take  you  into  her  confidence  ? " 

Charmian  answered  in  the  negative,  and  in- 
quired whether  Antony  had  arrived,  and  how  she 
had  found  him. 

"  In  a  pitiable  state,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  has- 
tened hither  to  prevent  the  Queen  from  visiting 
him,  if  possible.  She  would  have  received  a  re- 
buff.    It  is  horrible." 

"  The  disappointment  of  Paraetonium  is  added 
to  the  other  burdens,"  observed  Archibius. 

'^  A  feather  compared  with  the  rest,"  cried  Iras 


98 


CLEOPATRA. 


indignantly.  "  What  a  spectacle !  A  shrivelled 
soul,  never  too  large,  in  the  body  of  a  powerful 
giant.  Disaster  crushes  the  courage  of  the  de- 
scendant of  Herakles.  The  weakling  will  drag 
the  Queen's  splendid  courage  with  him  into  the 
dust." 

"  We  will  do  our  best  to  prevent  it,"  replied 
Archibius  firmly.  "  The  immortals  have  placed 
you  and  Charmian  at  her  side  to  sustain  her,  if  her 
own  strength  fails.  The  time  to  test  your  powers 
has  arrived." 

"  I  know  my  duty,"  replied  Iras  austerely. 

"  Prove  it !  "  said  Archibius  earnestly.  "  You 
think  you  have  cause  for  anger  against  Charmian." 

"  Whoever  treats  my  foes  so  tenderly  can 
doubtless  dispense  with  my  affection.  Where  is 
your  ward  ? " 

"  That  you  shall  learn  later,"  replied  Charmian 
advancing.  "  But  when  you  do  know,  you  will 
have  still  better  reason  to  doubt  my  love  ;  yet  it 
was  only  to  save  one  dear  to  me  from  misery,  cer- 
tainly not  to  grieve  you,  that  I  stepped  between 
you  and  Barine.  And  now  let  me  say — had  you 
wounded  me  to  the  quick,  and  everything  dear  to 
the  Greek  heart  called  to  me  for  vengeance — I 
should  impose  upon  myself  whatever  constraint 
might  be  necessary  to  deny  the  impulse,  because 
this  breast  contains  a  love  stronger,  more  power- 
ful, than  the  fiercest  hate.  And  this  love  we  both 
share.    Hate  me,  strive  to  wound  and  injure  one  at 


CLEOPATRA. 


99 


whose  side  you  have  hitherto  stood  like  a  daugh- 
ter, but  beware  of  robbing  me  of  the  strength  and 
freedom  which  I  need,  to  be  and  to  offer  to  my 
royal  mistress  all  the  assistance  in  my  power.  I 
have  just  been  consulting  my  brother  about  leav- 
ing Cleopatra's  service." 

"  Now  ? "  Iras  broke  in  vehemently.  "  No,  no  ! 
Not  that !  It  must  not  be  !  She  cannot  spare  you 
now." 

"  More  easily,  perhaps,  than  you,"  replied  Char- 
mian ;  "  yet  in  many  things  my  services  might  be 
hard  to  replace." 

"  Nothing  under  the  sun  could  do  it,"  cried  Iras 
eagerly.  "  If,  in  these  days  of  trouble,  she  should 
lose  you  too " 

"  Still  darker  ones  are  approaching,"  inter- 
rupted Archibius  positively.  "  Perhaps  you  will 
learn  all  to-morrow.  Whether  Charmian  yields 
to  her  desire  for  rest,  or  continues  in  the  service 
of  the  Queen,  depends  on  you.  If  you  wish  her  to 
remain  you  must  not  render  it  too  hard  for  her  to 
do  so.  ^We  three,  my  child,  are  perhaps  the  only 
persons  at  this  court  to  whom  the  Queen's  happi- 
ness is  more  than  their  own,  and  therefore  we 
should  permit  no  incident,  whatever  name  it  may 
bear,  to  cloud  our  harmony." 

Iras  threw  back  her  head  with  angry  pride, 
exclaiming  passionately:  "  Was  it  I  who  injured 
you  ?  I  do  not  know  in  what  respect.  But  you 
and  Charmian — though    you    have   so    long   been 


lOO  CLEOPATRA. 

aware  that  this  heart  was  closed  against  every 
love  save  one — stepped  between  me  and  the  man 
for  whom  I  have  yearned  since  childhood,  and 
built  the  bridge  which  united  Dion  and  Barine.  I 
held  the  woman  I  hated  in  my  grasp,  and  thanked 
the  immortals  for  the  boon  ;  but  you  two — it  is 
not  difficult  to  guess  the  secret  you  are  still  trying 
to  keep  from  me — you  aided  her  to  escape.  You 
have  robbed  me  of  my  revenge ;  you  have  again 
placed  the  singer  in  the  path  where  she  must  find 
the  man  to  whom  I  have  a  better  and  older  claim, 
and  who  perhaps  may  still  be  considering  which  of 
us  two  will  be  the  better  mistress  of  his  house,  if 
Alexas  and  his  worthy  brother  do  not  arrange  mat- 
ters so  that  we  must  both  content  ourselves  with 
thinking  tenderly  of  a  dead  man.  That  is  why  I 
believe  that  I  am  no  longer  indebted  to  you,  that 
Charmian  has  more  than  repaid  herself  for  all  the 
kindness  she  has  ever  showed  me." 

With  these  words  she  hurried  to  the  door,  but 
paused  on  the  threshold,  exclaiming :  "  This  is  the 
state  of  affairs ;  yet  I  am  ready  to  serve  the  Queen 
hand  in  hand  with  you  as  before  ;  for  you  two — 
as  I  have  said — are  necessary  to  her.  In  other  re- 
spects— I  shall  follow  my  own  path." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

Cleopatra  had  sought  the  venerable  Anubis, 
who  now,  as  the  priest  of  Alexander,  at  the  age  of 
eighty,  ruled  the  whole  hierarchy  of  the  country. 
It  was  difficult  for  him  to  leave  his  arm-chair,  but 
he  had  been  carried  to  the  observatory  to  examine 
the  adverse  result  of  the  observation  made  by  the 
Queen  herself.  The  position  of  the  stars,  how- 
ever, had  been  so  unfavourable  that  the  more 
deeply  Cleopatra  entered  into  these  matters,  the 
less  easy  he  found  it  to  urge  the  mitigating  in- 
fluences of  distant  planets,  which  he  had  at  first 
pointed  out. 

In  his  reception-hall,  however,  the  chief  priest 
had  assured  her  that  the  independence  of  Egypt 
and  the  safety  of  her  own  person  lay  in  her  hands ; 
only — the  planets  showed  this — a  terrible  sacrifice 
was  required — a  sacrifice  of  which  his  dignity,  his 
eighty  years,  and  his  love  for  her  alike  forbade 
him  to  speak.  Cleopatra  was  accustomed  to  hear 
these  mysterious  sayings  from  his  lips,  and  inter- 
preted them  in  her  own  way.  Many  motives  had 
induced  her  to  seek  the  venerable  prelate  at  this 


I02  CLEOPATRA. 

late  hour.  In  difficult  situations  he  had  often  aided 
her  with  good  counsel ;  but  this  time  she  was  not 
led  to  him  by  the  magic  cup  of  Nektanebus,  which 
the  eight  pastophori  who  accompanied  it  had  that 
day  restored  to  the  temple,  for  since  the  battle  of 
Actium  the  superb  vessel  had  been  a  source  of 
constant  anxiety  to  her. 

Cleopatra  had  now  asked  the  teacher  of  her 
childhood  the  direct  question  whether  the  cup — a 
wide,  shallow  vessel,  with  a  flat,  polished  bottom — 
could  really  have  induced  Antony  to  leave  the  bat- 
tle and  follow  her  ere  the  victory  was  decided. 
She  had  used  it  just  before  the  conflict  between 
the  galleys,  and  this  circumstance  led  Anubis  to 
answer  positively  in  the  affirmative. 

Long  ago  the  marvellous  chalice  had  been  ex- 
hibited to  her  among  the  temple  treasures,  and  she 
was  told  that  every  one  who  induced  another  per- 
son to  be  reflected  from  its  shining  surface  ob- 
tained the  mastery  over  his  will.  Her  wish  to  pos- 
sess it,  however,  was  not  gratified,  and  she  did  not 
ask  for  it  again  until  the  limitless  devotion  and 
ardent  love  of  Antony  had  seemed  less  fervent 
than  of  yore.  From  that  time  she  had  never 
ceased  to  urge  her  aged  friend  to  place  the  won- 
drous cup  in  her  keeping.  At  first  he  had  abso- 
lutely refused,  predicting  that  its  use  would  bring 
misfortune  upon  her;  but  when  her  request  was 
followed  by  an  imperative  command,  and  the  gob- 
let was  entrusted  to  her,  Anubis  himself  believed 


CLEOPATRA. 


103 


that  this  one  vessel  did  possess  the  magic  power 
attributed  to  it.  He  deemed  that  the  drinking- 
cup  afforded  the  strongest  proof  of  the  magic  art, 
far  transcending  human  ability,  of  the  great  god- 
dess by  whose  aid  King  Nektanebus — who,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  was  the  father  of  Alexander  the 
Great — was  said  to  have  made  the  vessel  in  the 
Isis  island  of  Philae. 

Anubis  had  intended  to  remind  Cleopatra  of 
his  refusal,  and  show  her  the  great  danger  in- 
curred by  mortals  who  strove  to  use  powers  be- 
yond their  sphere.  It  had  been  his  purpose  to  bid 
her  remember  Phaeton,  who  had  almost  kindled  a 
conflagration  in  the  world  when  he  attempted,  in  the 
chariot  of  his  father,  Phoebus  Apollo,  to  guide  the 
horses  of  the  sun.  But  this  was  unnecessary,  for 
he  had  scarcely  assented  to  the  question  ere,  with 
passionate  vehemence,  she  ordered  him  to  destroy 
before  her  eyes  the  cup  which  had  brought  so 
much  misfortune. 

The  priest  feigned  that  her  desire  harmonized 
with  a  resolution  which  he  had  himself  formed. 

In  fact,  before  her  arrival,  he  had  feared  that 
the  goblet  might  be  used  in  some  fatal  manner  if 
Octavianus  should  take  possession  of  the  city  and 
country,  and  the  wonder-working  vessel  should 
fall  into  his  hands.  Nektanebus  had  made  the 
cup  for  Egypt.  To  wrest  it  from  the  foreign  ruler 
was  acting  in  the  spirit  of  the  last  king  in  whose 
veins  had  flowed  the  blood  of  the  Pharaohs,  and 


I04 


CLEOPATRA. 


who  had  toiled  with  enthusiastic  devotion  for  the 
independence  and  liberty  of  his  people.  To  de- 
stroy this  man's  marvellous  work  rather  than  de- 
liver it  to  the  Roman  conqueror  seemed  to  the 
chief  priest,  after  the  Queen's  command,  a  sacred 
duty,  and  as  such  he  represented  it  to  be  when  he 
commanded  the  smelting  furnace  to  be  fired  and 
the  cup  transformed  into  a  shapeless  mass  before 
the  eyes  of  Cleopatra. 

While  the  metal  was  melting  he  eagerly  told 
the  Queen  how  easily  she  could  dispense  with  the 
vessel  which  owed  its  magic  power  to  the  mighty 
Isis. 

The  spell  of  woman's  charms  was  also  a  gift  of 
the  goddess.  It  would  suffice  to  render  Antony's 
heart  soft  and  yielding  as  the  fire  melted  the  gold. 
Perhaps  the  Imperator  had  forfeited,  with  the 
Queen's  respect,  her  love — the  most  priceless  of 
blessings.  He,  Anubis,  would  regard  this  as  a 
great  boon  of  the  Deity ;  "  for,"  he  concluded, 
"  Mark  Antony  is  the  cliff  which  will  shatter  every 
effort  to  secure  to  my  royal  mistress  undiminished 
the  heritage  which  has  come  to  her  and  her  chil- 
dren from  their  ancestors,  and  preserve  the  inde- 
pendence and  prosperity  of  this  beloved  land. 
This  cup  was  a  costly  treasure.  The  throne  and 
prosperity  of  Egypt  are  worthy  of  greater  sacri- 
fices. But  I  know  that  there  is  none  harder  for  a 
woman  to  make  than  her  love." 

The  meaning  of  the  old  man's  words  Cleopatra 


CLEOPATRA. 


los 


learned  the  following  morning,  when  she  granted 
the  first  interview  to  Timagenes,  Octavianus's 
envoy. 

The  keen-witted,  brilliant  man,  who  had  been 
one  of  her  best  teachers  and  with  whom,  when  a 
pupil,  she  had  had  many  an  argument,  was  kindly 
received,  and  fulfilled  his  commission  with  consum- 
mate skill. 

The  Queen  listened  attentively  to  his  represen- 
tations, showed  him  that  her  own  intellect  had  not 
lost  in  flexibility,  though  it  had  gained  power;  and 
when  she  dismissed  him,  with  rich  gifts  and  gra- 
cious words,  she  knew  that  she  could  preserve  the 
independence  of  her  beloved  native  land  and  re- 
tain the  throne  for  herself  and  her  children  if  she 
would  surrender  Antony  to  the  conqueror  or  to 
him,  as  **  the  person  acting,"  or — these  were  Tima- 
genes's  own  words — "  remove  him  forever  from  the 
play  whose  end  she  had  the  power  to  render  either 
brilliant  or  fateful." 

When  she  was  again  alone  her  heart  throbbed 
so  passionately  and  her  soul  was  in  such  a  tumult 
of  agitation  that  she  felt  unable  to  attend  the  ap- 
pointed meeting  of  the  Council  of  the  crown.  She 
deferred  the  session  until  the  following  day,  and 
resolved  to  go  out  upon  the  sea,  to  endeavour  to 
regain  her  composure. 

Antony  had  refused  to  see  her.  This  wounded 
her.  The  thought  of  the  goblet  and  its  evil  influ- 
ences had  by  no  means  passed  from  her  memory 


Io6  CLEOPATRA. 

with  the  destruction  of  the  vessel  caused  by  one  of 
those  outbursts  of  passion  to  which,  in  these  days 
of  disaster,  she  yielded  more  frequently  than  usual. 
On  the  contrary,  she  felt  the  necessity  of  being 
alone,  to  collect  her  thoughts  and  strive  to  dispel 
the  clouds  from  her  troubled  soul. 

The  beaker  had  been  one  of  the  treasures  of 
Isis,  and  the  memory  of  it  recalled  hours  during 
which,  in  former  days,  she  had  often  found  com- 
posure in  the  temple  of  the  goddess.  She  wished 
to  seek  the  sanctuary  unnoticed  and,  accompanied 
only  by  Iras  and  the  chief  Introducer,*  went, 
closely  veiled,  to  the  neighbouring  temple  at  the 
Corner  of  the  Muses. 

But  she  failed  to  find  the  object  of  her  pilgrim- 
age. The  throng  which  filled  it  to  pray  and  offer 
sacrifices,  and  the  fear  of  being  recognized,  de- 
stroyed her  calmness. 

She  was  in  the  act  of  retiring,  when  Gorgias,  the 
architect,  followed  by  an  assistant  carrying  sur- 
veying instruments,  advanced  towards  her.  She 
instantly  called  him  to  her  side,  and  he  informed 
her  how  wonderfully  Fate  itself  seemed  to  favour 
her  plan  of  building.  The  mob  had  destroyed  the 
-house  of  the  old  philosopher  Didymus,  and  the 
grey-haired  sage,  to  whom  he  had  offered  the  shel- 
ter of  his  home,  was  now  ready  to  transfer  the 
property  inherited  from  his  ancestors,  if  her  Majes- 

*  Marshal  of  the  court. 


CLEOPATRA. 


107 


ty  would  assure  him  and  his  family  of  her  protec- 
tion. 

Then  she  asked  to  see  the  architect's  plan  for 
joining  the  museum  to  the  sanctuary,  and  became 
absorbed  in  the  first  sketch,  to  which  he  had  de- 
voted part  of  the  night  and  morning.  He  showed 
it,  and  with  eager  urgency  Cleopatra  commanded 
him  to  begin  the  building  as  soon  as  possible  and 
pursue  the  work  night  and  day.  What  usually  re- 
quired months  must  be  completed  in  weeks. 

Iras  and  the  **  Introducer,"  clad  in  plain  gar- 
ments, had  waited  for  her  in  the  temple  court  and, 
joined  by  the  architect,  accompanied  her  to  the  un- 
pretending litter  standing  at  one  of  the  side  gates 
but,  instead  of  entering  it,  she  ordered  Gorgias  to 
attend  her  to  the  garden. 

The  inspection  proved  that  the  architect  was 
right  and,  even  if  the  mausoleum  occupied  a  por- 
tion of  it,  and  the  street  which  separated  it  from 
the  Temple  of  Isis  were  continued  along  the  shore 
of  the  sea,  the  remainder  would  still  be  twice  as 
large  as  the  one  belonging  to  the  palace  at  Lochias. 

Cleopatra's  thorough  examination  showed  Gor- 
gias that  she  had  some  definite  purpose  in  view. 
Her  inquiry  whether  it  would  be  possible  to  con- 
nect it  with  the  promontory  of  Lochias  indicated 
what  she  had  in  mind,  and  the  architect  answered 
in  the  affirmative.  It  was  only  necessary  to  tear 
down  some  small  buildings  belonging  to  the  Crown 
and  a  little  temple  of  Berenike  at  the  southern  part 


I08  CLEOPATRA. 

of  the  royal  harbour.  The  arm  of  the  Agathodae- 
mon  Canal  which  entered  here  had  been  bridged 
long  ago. 

The  new  scene  which  would  result  from  this 
change  had  been  conjured  before  the  Queen's  men- 
tal vision  with  marvellous  celerity,  and  she  described 
it  in  brief,  vivid  language  to  the  architect.  The 
garden  should  remain,  but  must  be  enlarged  from 
the  Lochias  to  the  bridge.  Thence  a  covered  col- 
onnade would  lead  to  the  palace.  After  Gorgias 
had  assured  her  that  all  this  could  easily  be  ar- 
ranged, she  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  ground  for 
a  time,  and  then  gave  orders  that  the  work  should 
be  commenced  at  once,  and  requested  him  to  spare 
neither  means  nor  men. 

Gorgias  foresaw  a  period  of  feverish  toil,  but  it 
did  not  daunt  him.  With  such  a  master  builder  he 
was  ready  to  roof  the  whole  city.  Besides,  the 
commission  delighted  him  because  it  proved  that 
the  woman  whose  mausoleum  was  to  rise  from  the 
earth  so  swiftly  still  thought  of  enhancing  the 
pleasures  of  existence ;  for,  though  she  wished  the 
garden  to  remain  unchanged,  she  desired  to  see 
the  colonnade  and  the  remainder  of  the  work  con- 
structed of  costly  materials  and  in  beautiful  forms. 
When  she  bade  him  farewell,  Gorgias  kissed  her 
robe  with  ardent  enthusiasm. 

What  a  woman  !  True,  she  had  not  even  raised 
her  veil,  and  was  attired  in  plain  dark  clothing,  but 
every  gesture  revealed   the   most   perfect   grace. 


CLEOPATRA. 


109 


The  arm  and  hand  with  which  she  pointed  now 
here,  now  there,  again  seemed  to  him  fairly  in- 
stinct with  life ;  and  he,  who  deemed  perfection  of 
form  of  so  much  value,  found  it  difficult  to  avert 
his  eyes  from  her  marvellous  symmetry.  And  her 
whole  figure !  What  lines,  what  genuine  aristo- 
cratic elegance,  and  warm,  throbbing  life  ! 

That  morning  when  Helena,  now  an  inmate  of 
his  own  home,  greeted  him,  he  had  essayed  to  com- 
pare her,  mentally,  with  Cleopatra,  but  speedily 
desisted.  The  man  to  whom  Hebe  proffers  nectar 
does  not  ask  for  even  the  best  wine  of  Byblus.  A 
feeling  of  grateful,  cheerful  satisfaction,  difficult 
to  describe,  stole  over  him  when  the  reserved,  quiet 
Helena  addressed  him  so  warmly  and  cordially; 
but  the  image  of  Cleopatra  constantly  thrust  itself 
between  them,  and  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  under- 
stand himself.  He  had  loved  many  women  in  suc- 
cession, and  now  his  heart  throbbed  for  two  at 
once,  and  the  Queen  was  the  brighter  of  the  two 
stars  whose  light  entranced  him.  Therefore  his 
honest  soul  would  have  considered  it  a  crime  to 
woo  Helena  now. 

Cleopatra  knew  what  an  ardent  admirer  she 
had  won  in  the  able  architect,  and  the  knowledge 
pleased  her.  She  had  used  no  goblet  to  gain  him. 
Doubtless  he  would  begin  to  build  the  mausoleum 
the  next  morning.  The  vault  must  have  space  for 
several  coffins.  Antony  had  more  than  once  ex- 
pressed the  desire  to  be  buried  beside  her,  wher- 
28 


no  CLEOPATRA. 

ever  he  might  die,  and  this  had  occurred  ere  she 
possessed  the  beaker.  She  must  in  any  case  grant 
him  the  same  favour,  no  matter  in.  what  place  or 
by  whose  hand  he  met  death,  and  the  bedimmed 
light  of  his  existence  was  but  too  evidently  near- 
ing  extinction.  If  she  spared  him,  Octavianus 
would  strike  him  from  the  ranks  of  the  living,  and 
she Again  she  was  overpowered  by  the  ter- 
rible, feverish  restlessness  which  had  induced  her 
to  command  the  destruction  of  the  goblet,  and 
had  brought  her  to  the  temple.  She  could  not  re- 
turn in  this  mood  to  meet  her  councillors,  receive 
visitors,  greet  her  children.  This  was  the  birth- 
day of  the  twins ;  Charmian  had  reminded  her  of 
it  and  undertaken  to  provide  the  gifts.  How  could 
she  have  found  time  and  thought  for  such  affairs? 
She  had  returned  from  the  chief  priest  late  in 
the  evening,  yet  had  asked  for  a  minute  descrip- 
tion of  the  condition  in  which  they  found  Mark 
Antony.  The  report  made  by  Iras  harmonized 
with  the  state  in  which  she  had  herself  seen  him 
during  and  after  the  battle.  Ay,  his  brooding 
gloom  seemed  to  have  deepened.  Charmian  had 
helped  her  dress  in  the  morning,  and  had  been  on 
the  point  of  making  her  difficult  confession,  and 
owning  that  she  had  aided  Barine  to  escape  the 
punishment  of  her  royal  mistress;  but  ere  she 
could  begin,  Timagenes  was  announced,  for  Cleo- 
patra had  not  risen  from  her  couch  until  a  late 
hour. 


CLEOPATRA.  1 1 1 

The  object  for  which  the  Queen  had  sought 
the  temple  had  not  been  gained ;  but  the  consul- 
tation with  Gorgias  had  diverted  her  mind,  and 
the  emotions  which  the  thought  of  her  last  rest- 
ing-place had  evoked  now  drowned  everything 
else,  as  the  roar  of  the  surf  dominates  the  twitter- 
ing of  the  swallows  on  the  rocky  shore. 

Ay,  she  needed  calmness!  She  must  weigh  and 
ponder  over  many  things  in  absolute  quietude, 
and  this  she  could  not  obtain  at  Lochias.  Then 
her  glance  rested  upon  the  little  sanctuary  of 
Berenike,  which  she  had  ordered  removed  to  make 
room  for  a  garden  near  at  hand,  where  the  chil- 
dren could  indulge  their  love  of  creative  work.  It 
was  empty.  She  need  fear  no  interruption  there. 
The  interior  contained  only  a  single,  quiet,  pleas- 
ant chamber,  with  the  image  of  Berenike.  The 
"  Introducer  "  commanded  the  guard  to  admit  no 
other  visitors,  and  soon  the  little  white  marble, 
circular  room  with  its  vaulted  roof  received  the 
Queen.  She  sank  down  on  one  of  the  bronze 
benches  opposite  to  the  statue.  All  was  still ;  in 
this  cool  silence  her  mind,  trained  to  thought, 
could  find  that  for  which  it  longed — clearness  of 
vision,  a  plain  understanding  of  her  own  feelings 
and  position  in  the  presence  of  the  impending  de- 
cision. 

At  first  her  thoughts  wandered  to  and  fro  like 
a  dove  ere  it  chooses  the  direction  of  its  flight ;  but 
after  the  question  why  she  was   having  a   tomb 


112  CLEOPATRA. 

built  so  hurriedly,  when  she  would  be  permitted  to 
live,  her  mind  found  the  right  track.  Among  the 
Scythian  guards,  the  Mauritanians,  a.nd  Blemmyes 
in  the  army  there  were  plenty  of  savage  fellows 
whom  a  word  from  her  lips  and  a  handful  of  gold 
would  have  set  upon  the  vanquished  Antony,  as 
the  huntsman's  "Seize  him!"  urges  the  hounds. 
A  hint,  and  among  the  wretched  magicians  and 
Magians  in  the  Rhakotis,  the  Egyptian  quarter  of 
the  city,  twenty  men  would  have  assassinated  him 
by  poison  or  wily  snares;  one  command  to  the 
Macedonians  in  the  guard  of  the  Mellakes  or 
youths,  and  he  would  be  a  captive  that  very  day, 
and  to-morrow,  if  she  so  ordered,  on  the  way  to 
Asia,  whither  Octavianus,  as  Timagenes  told  her, 
had  gone. 

What  prevented  her  from  grasping  the  gold, 
giving  the  hint,  issuing  the  command  ? 

Doubtless  she  thought  of  the  magic  goblet, 
now  melted,  which  had  constrained  him  to  cast 
aside  honour,  fame,  and  power,  as  worthless  rub- 
bish, in  order  to  obey  her  behest  not  to  leave  her; 
but  though  this  remembrance  burdened  her  soul, 
it  had  no  decisive  influence.  It  was  no  one  thing 
which  prisoned  her  hand  and  lips,  but  every  fibre 
of  her  being,  every  pulsation  of  her  heart,  every 
glance  back  into  the  past  to  the  confines  of  child- 
hood. 

Yet  she  listened  to  other  thoughts  also.  They 
reminded  her  of  her  children,  the  elation  of  power, 


CLEOPATRA.  II3 

love  for  the  land  of  her  ancestors,  and  the  peril 
which  menaced  it  without  her,  the  bliss  of  seeing 
the  light,  and  the  darkness,  the  silence,  the  dull 
rigidity  of  death,  the  destruction  of  the  body 
and  the  mind  cherished  and  developed  with  so 
much  care  and  toil,  the  horrible  torture  which 
might  be  associated  with  the  transition  from  life  to 
death — the  act  of  dying.  And  what  lay  before  her 
in  the  existence  which  lasted  an  eternity  ?  When 
she  no  longer  breathed  beneath  the  sun,  even  if 
the  death  hour  was  deferred,  and  she  found  that 
not  Epicurus,  who  believed  that  with  death  all 
things  ended,  had  been  right,  but  the  ancient 
teachings  of  the  Egyptians,  what  would  await  her 
in  that  world  beyond  the  grave  if  she  purchased  a 
few  more  years  of  life  by  the  murder  or  betrayal 
of  her  lover,  her  husband  ? 

Yet  perhaps  the  punishments  inflicted  upon  the 
condemned  were  but  bugbears  invented  by  the 
priesthood,  which  guarded  the  regulation  of  the 
state  in  order  to  curb  the  unruly  conduct  of  the 
populace  and  terrify  the  turbulent  transgressors  of 
the  law.  And,  whispered  the  daring  Greek  spirit, 
in  the  abode  of  the  condemned,  not  in  the  Gar- 
den of  Aalu,  the  Elysian  Fields  of  the  Egyptians, 
she  would  meet  her  father  and  mother  and  all  her 
wicked  ancestors  down  to  Euergetes  I,  who  was 
succeeded  by  the  infamous  Philopater.  Thus  the 
thought  of  the  other  world  became  an  antecedent 
so  uncertain  as  to  permit  no  definite  inference,  and 


114 


CLEOPATRA. 


might  therefore  be  left  out  of  the  account.  How 
would — this  must  be  the  form  of  the  question — 
the  years  purchased  by  the  murder  or  betrayal  of 
one  whom  she  loved  shape  themselves  for  her  ? 

During  the  night  the  image  of  the  murdered 
man  would  drive  sleep  from  her  couch,  and  the 
Furies,  the  Dirae,  as  the  Roman  Antony  called 
them,  who  pursue  murderers  with  the  serpent 
scourge,  were  no  idle  creations  of  poetic  fancy,  but 
fully  symbolized  the  restlessness  of  the  criminal, 
driven  to  and  fro  by  the  pangs  of  conscience.  The 
chief  good,  the  painless  happiness  of  the  Epicu- 
reans, was  forever  lost  to  those  burdened  by  such 
guilt. 

And  during  the  hours  of  the  day  and  evening  ? 
.  Ay,  then  she  would  be  free  to  heap  pleasure  on 
pleasure.  But  for  whom  were  the  festivals  to  be 
celebrated ;  with  whom  could  she  share  them  ? 
For  many  a  long  year  no  banquet,  no  entertain- 
ment had  given  her  enjoyment  without  Mark  An- 
tony. For  whom  did  she  adorn  herself  or  strive 
to  stay  the  vanishing  charm  ?  And  how  soon 
would  anguish  of  soul  utterly  destroy  the  spell, 
which  was  slowly,  slowly,  yet  steadily  diminishing, 
and,  when  the  mirror  revealed  wrinkles  which  the 

skill  of  no  Olympus  could  efface,  when  she No, 

she  was  not  created  to  grow  old !  Did  the  few 
years  of  life  which  must  contain  so  much  misery 
really  possess  a  value  great  enough  to  surrender 
the  right  of  being  called  by  present  and  future 


CLEOPATRA. 


115 


generations  the  bewitching  Cleopatra,  the  most 
irresistible  of  women  ? 

And  the  children  ? 

Yes,  it  would  have  been  delightful  to  see  them 
grow  up  and  occupy  the  throne,  but  serious,  deci- 
sive doubts  soon  blended  even  with  an  idea  so  rich 
in  joy. 

How  glorious  to  greet  Csesarion  as  sovereign 
of  the  world  in  Octavianus's  place  !  But  how  could 
the  dreamer,  whose  first  love  affair  had  caused  the 
total  sacrifice  of  dignity  and  violation  of  the  law, 
and  who  now  seemed  to  have  once  more  relapsed 
into  the  old  state  of  torpor,  attain  the  position  ? 

The  other  children  inspired  fair  hopes,  and 
how  beautiful  it  appeared  to  the  mother's  heart 
to  see  Antonius  Helios  as  King  of  Egypt ;  Cleo- 
patra Selene  with  her  first  child  in  her  arms ;  and 
little  Alexander  a  noble  statesman  and  hero,  rich 
in  virtue  and  talents !  Yet,  what  would  they,  An- 
tony's children,  whose  education  she  hoped  Ar- 
chibius  would  direct,  feel  for  the  mother  who  had 
been  their  father's  murderess  ? 

She  shuddered  at  the  thought,  remembering  the 
hours  when  her  childish  heart  had  shed  tears  of 
blood  over  the  infamous  mother  whom  her  father 
had  execrated.  And  Queen  Tryphoena,  whom  his- 
tory recorded  as  a  monster,  had  not  killed  her  hus- 
band, but  merely  thrust  him  from  the  throne. 

Arsinoe's  execrations  of  her  mother  and  sister 
came  back  to  her  memory,  and  the  thought  that 


Il6  CLEOPATRA. 

the  rosy  lips  of  the  twins  and  her  darling  Alex- 
ander could  ever  open  to  curse  her,  the  idea  that 
the  children  would  ever  raise  their  beloved  hands 
to   point  at   her,   the  wicked   murderess  of   their 

father,  with  horror   and   scorn No,  no,  and 

again  no  !  She  would  not  purchase  a  few  more 
years  of  valueless  life  at  the  cost  of  this  humilia- 
tion and  shame. 

Purchase  of  whom  ? 

Of  that  Octavianus  who  had  robbed  her  son 
of  the  heritage  of  his  father,  Caesar,  and  whose 
mention  in  the  will  was  like  an  imputation  on 
her  fidelity — the  cold-hearted,  calculating  upstart, 
whose  nature  from  their  first  meeting  in  Rome 
had  repelled,  rebuffed,  chilled  her ;  of  the  man 
by  whose  cajolery  and  power  her  husband — for  in 
her  own  eyes  and  those  of  the  Egyptians  Antony 
held  this  position — had  been  induced  to  wed  his 
sister,  Octavia,  and  thereby  stamp  her,  Cleopatra, 
as  merely  his  love,  cast  a  doubt  upon  the  legiti- 
mate birth  of  her  children  ;  of  the  false  friend  of 
the  trusting  Antony  who,  before  the  battle  of 
Actium,  had  most  deeply  humiliated  and  insulted 
both! 

On  the  contrary,  her  royal  pride  rebelled 
against  obeying  the  command  of  such  a  man  to 
commit  the  most  atrocious  deed ;  and  from  child- 
hood this  pride  had  been  as  much  a  part  of  her 
nature  as  her  breath  and  the  pulsation  of  her 
heart.     And     yet,    for     her    children's    sake,    she 


CLEOPATRA. 

might  perhaps  have  incurred  this  disg 
not  been  at  the  same  time  the  grave  of  the  best 
and  noblest  things  which  she  desired  to  implant  in 
the  young  souls  of  the  twins  and  Alexander. 

While  thinking  of  the  children's  curses  she  had 
risen  from  her  seat.  Why  should  she  reflect  and 
consider  longer  ?  She  had  found  the  clear  percep- 
tion she  sought.  Let  Gorgias  hasten  the  building 
of  the  tomb.  Should  Fate  demand  her  life,  she 
would  not  resist  if  she  were  permitted  to  preserve 
it  only  at  the  cost  of  murder  or  base  treachery. 
Her  lover's  was  already  forfeited.  At  his  side  she 
had  enjoyed  a  radiant,  glowing,  peerless  bliss,  of 
which  the  world  still  talked  with  envious  amaze- 
ment. At  his  side,  when  all  was  over,  she  would 
rest  in  the  grave,  and  compel  the  world  to  remem- 
ber with  respectful  sympathy  the  royal  lovers, 
Antony  and  Cleopatra.  Her  children  should  be 
able  to  think  of  her  with  untroubled  hearts,  and 
not  even  the  shadow  of  a  bitter  feeling,  a  warning 
thought,  should  deter  them  from  adorning  their 
parents'  grave  with  flowers,  weeping  at  its  foot, 
invoking  and  offering  sacrifices  to  their  spirits. 

Then  she  glanced  at  the  statue  of  Berenike,  who 
had  also  once  worn  on  her  brow  the  double  crown 
of  Egypt.  She,  too,  had  early  died  a  violent 
death ;  she,  too,  had  known  how  to  love.  The 
vow  to  sacrifice  her  beautiful  hair  to  Aphrodite  if 
her  husband  returned  uninjured  from  the  Syrian 
war  had  rendered   her  name  illustrious.     "  Bere- 


Il8  CLEOPATRA. 

nike's  Hair  **  was  still  to  be  seen  as  a  constellation 
in  the  night  heavens. 

Though  this  woman  had  sinned  often  and 
heavily,  one  act  of  loyal  love  had  made  her  an 
honoured,  worshipped  princess.  She — Cleopatra — 
would  do  something  still  greater.  The  sacrifice 
which  she  intended  to  impose  upon  herself  would 
weigh  far  more  heavily  in  the  balance  than  a 
handful  of  beautiful  tresses,  and  would  comprise 
sovereignty  and  life. 

With  head  erect  and  a  sense  of  proud  self-reli- 
ance she  gazed  at  the  noble  marble  countenance 
of  the  Cyrenian  queen.  Ere  entering  the  sanc- 
tuary she  had  imagined  that  she  knew  how  the 
criminals  whom  she  had  sentenced  to  death  must 
feel.  Now  that  she  herself  had  done  with  life,  she 
felt  as  if  she  were  relieved  from  a  heavy  burden, 
and  yet  her  heart  ached,  and — especially  when  she 
thought  of  her  children — she  was  overwhelmed 
with  the  emotion  which  is  the  most  painful  of  all 
forms  of  compassion — pity  for  herself. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

When  Cleopatra  left  the  temple,  Iras  marvelled 
at  the  change  in  her  appearance.  The  severe  ten- 
sion which  had  given  her  beautiful  face  a  shade  of 
harshness  had  yielded  to  an  expression  of  gentle 
sadness  that  enhanced  its  charm,  yet  her  features 
quickly  brightened  as  her  attendant  pointed  to  the 
procession  which  was  just  entering  the  forecourt 
of  the  palace. 

In  Alexandria  and  throughout  Egypt  birthdays 
were  celebrated  as  far  as  possible.  Therefore,  to 
do  honour  to  the  twins,  the  children  of  the  city 
had  been  sent  to  offer  their  congratulations,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  assure  their  royal  mother  of 
the  love  and  devotion  of  the  citizens. 

The  return  to  the  palace  occupied  only  a  few 
minutes,  and  as  Cleopatra,  hastily  donning  festal 
garments,  gazed  down  at  the  bands  of  children,  it 
seemed  as  if  Fate  by  this  fair  spectacle  had  given 
her  a  sign  of  approval  of  her  design. 

She  was  soon  standing  hand  in  hand  with  the 
twins  upon  the  balcony  before  which  the  proces- 
sion had  halted.     Hundreds  of  boys  and  girls  of 


I20  CLEOPATRA. 

the  same  age  as  the  prince  and  princess  had 
flocked  thither,  the  former  bearing  bouquets,  the 
latter  small  baskets  filled  with  lilies  and  roses. 
Every  head  was  crowned  with  a  wreath,  and  many 
of  the  girls  wore  garlands  of  flowers.  A  chorus  of 
youths  and  maidens  sang  a  festal  hymn,  beseech- 
ing the  gods  to  grant  the  royal  mother  and  chil- 
dren every  happiness ;  the  leader  of  the  chorus  of 
girls  made  a  short  address  in  the  name  of  the  city, 
and  during  this  speech  the  children  formed  in 
ranks,  the  tallest  in  the  rear,  the  smallest  in  the 
front,  and  the  others  between  according  to  their 
height.  The  scene  resembled  a  living  garden,  in 
which  rosy  faces  were  the  beautiful  flowers. 

Cleopatra  thanked  the  citizens  for  the  charming 
greeting  sent  to  her  by  those  whom  they  held 
dearest,  and  assured  them  that  she  returned  their 
love.  Her  eyes  grew  dim  with  tears  as  she  went 
with  her  three  children  to  the  throng  who  offered 
their  congratulations,  and  an  unusually  pretty 
little  girl  whom  she  kissed  threw  her  arms  around 
her  as  tenderly  as  if  she  were  her  own  mother. 
And  how  beautiful  was  the  scene  when  the  girls 
strewed  the  contents  of  their  little  baskets  on  the 
ground  before  her,  and  the  boys,  with  many  a  ring- 
ing shout  and  loving  wish,  offered  the  bouquets  to 
her  and  the  twins  ! 

Charmian  had  not  forgotten  to  provide  the 
gifts;  and  when  the  chamberlains  and  waiting- 
women  led  the  children  into  a  large  hall  to  offer 


CLEOPATRA.  121 

them  refreshments,  the  Queen's  eyes  sparkled  so 
brightly  that  the  companion  of  her  childhood  ven- 
tured to  make  her  difficult  confession. 

And,  as  so  often  happens,  the  event  we  most 
dread  shows,  when  it  actually  occurs,  a  friendly  or 
indifferent  aspect ;  this  was  the  case  now.  Noth- 
ing in  life  is  either  great  or  small — the  one  may  be 
transformed  to  the  other,  according  to  the  things 
with  which  it  is  compared.  The  tallest  man  be- 
comes a  dwarf  beside  a  rocky  giant  of  the  moun- 
tain chain,  the  smallest  is  a  Titan  to  the  swarming 
ants  in  the  forest.  The  beggar  seizes  as  a  treasure 
what  the  rich  man  scornfully  casts  aside.  That 
which  the  day  before  yesterday  seemed  to  Cleo- 
patra unendurable,  roused  her  keenest  anxiety, 
robbed  her  of  part  of  her  night's  repose,  and  in- 
duced her  to  adopt  strenuous  measures,  now  ap- 
peared trivial, and  scarcely  worthy  of  consideration. 

Yesterday  and  to-day  had  brought  events  and 
called  up  questions  which  forced  Barine's  disap- 
pearance into  the  realm  of  unimportant  matters. 

Charmian's  confession  was  preceded  by  the 
statement  that  she  longed  for  rest  yet,  neverthe- 
less, was  ready  to  remain  with  her  royal  friend,  in 
every  situation,  until  she  no  longer  desired  her 
services  and  sent  her  away.  But  she  feared  that 
this  moment  had  come. 

Cleopatra  interrupted  her  with  the  assurance 
that  she  was  speaking  of  something  utterly  impos- 
sible ;  and  when  Charmian  disclosed  Barine's  es- 


122  CLEOPATRA. 

cape,  and  admitted  that  it  was  she  who  had  aided 
the  flight  of  the  innocent  and  sorely  threatened 
granddaughter  of  Didymus,  the  Queen  started  up 
angrily  and  frowned,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment. 
Then,  with  a  smile,  she  shook  her  finger  at  her 
friend,  embraced  her,  and  gravely  but  kindly  as- 
sured her  that,  of  all  vices,  ingratitude  was  most 
alien  to  her  nature.  The  companion  of  her  child- 
hood had  bestowed  so  many  proofs  of  faithfulness, 
love,  self-sacrifice,  and  laborious  service  in  her  be- 
half that  they  could  not  be  long  outweighed  by 
a  single  act  of  wilful  disobedience.  An  abundant 
supply  would  still  remain,  by  virtue  of  which  she 
might  continue  to  sin  without  fearing  that  Cleo- 
patra would  ever  part  from  her  Charmian. 

The  latter  again  perceived  that  nothing  on 
earth  could  be  hostile  or  sharp  enough  to  sever  the 
bond  which  united  her  to  this  woman.  When  her 
lips  overflowed  with  the  gratitude  which  filled  her 
heart,  Cleopatra  admitted  that  it  seemed  as  if,  in 
aiding  Barine's  escape,  she  had  rendered  her  a 
service.  The  caution  with  which  Charmian  had 
concealed  Barine's  refuge  had  not  escaped  her  no- 
tice, and  she  did  not  ask  to  learn  it.  It  was  enough 
for  her  that  the  dangerous  beauty  was  out  of  Cae- 
sarion's  reach.  As  for  Antony,  a  wall  now  sepa- 
rated him  from  the  world,  and  consequently  from 
the  woman  who,  spite  of  Alexas*s  accusations,  had 
probably  never  stood  closer  to  his  heart. 

Charmian    now   eagerly   strove    to    show   the 


CLEOPATRA.  1 23 

Queen  what  had  induced  the  Syrian  to  pursue  Ba- 
rine  so  vindictively.  It  was  evident — and  scarce- 
ly needed  proof — that  Mark  Antony's  whole  ac- 
quaintanceship with  the  old  scholar's  granddaugh- 
ter had  been  far  from  leading  to  any  tender  rela- 
tion. But  Cleopatra  gave  only  partial  attention. 
The  man  whom  she  had  loved  with  every  pulsation 
of  her  heart  already  seemed  to  her  only  a  dear 
memory.  She  did  not  forget  the  happiness  en- 
joyed with  and  through  him,  or  the  wrong  she  had 
done  by  the  use  of  the  magic  goblet ;  yet  with  the 
wall  on  the  Choma,  which  divided  him  from  her 
and  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  her  command  to 
have  the  mausoleum  built,  she  imagined  that  the 
season  of  love  was  over.  Any  new  additions  to 
this  chapter  of  the  life  of  her  heart  were  but  the 
close.  Even  the  jealousy  which  had  clouded  the 
happiness  of  her  love  like  a  fleeting,  rapidly  chang- 
ing shadow,  she  believed  she  had  now  renounced 
forever. 

While  Charmian  protested  that  no  one  save 
Dion  had  ever  been  heard  with  favour  by  Barine, 
and  related  many  incidents  of  her  former  life, 
Cleopatra's  thoughts  were  with  Antony.  Like  the 
image  of  the  beloved  dead,  the  towering  figure  of 
the  Roman  hero  rose  before  her  mind,  but  she  re- 
called him  only  as  he  was  prior  to  the  battle  of 
Actium.  She  desired  and  expected  nothing  more 
from  the  broken-spirited  man,  whose  condition  was 
perhaps  her  own  fault.     But  she  had  resolved  to 


124 


CLEOPATRA. 


atone  for  her  guilt,  and  would  do  so  at  the  cost  of 
throne  and  life.  This  settled  the  account.  What- 
ever her  remaining  span  of  existence  might  add  or 
subtract,  was  part  of  the  bargain. 

The  entrance  of  Alexas  interrupted  her.  ^  With 
fiery  passion  he  expressed  his  regret  that  he  had 
been  defrauded  by  base  intrigues  of  the  right 
bestowed  upon  him  to  pass  sentence  upon  a  guilty 
woman.  This  was  the  more  difficult  to  bear  be- 
cause he  was  deprived  of  the  possibility  of  pro- 
viding for  the  pursuit  of  the  fugitive.  Antony  had 
honoured  him  with  the  commission  to  win  Herod 
back  to  his  cause.  He  was  to  leave  Alexandria 
that  very  night.  As  nothing  could  be  expected  in 
this  matter  from  the  misanthropic  Imperator,  he 
hoped  that  the  Queen  would  avenge  such  an 
offence  to  her  dignity,  and  adopt  severe  measures 
towards  the  singer  and  her  last  lover,  Dion,  who 
with  sacrilegious  hands  had  wounded  the  son  of 
Caesar. 

But  Cleopatra,  with  royal  dignity,  kept  him 
within  the  limits  of  his  position,  commanded  him 
not  to  mention  the  affair  to  her  again,  and  then, 
with  a  sorrowful  smile,  wished  him  success  with 
Herod,  in  whose  return  to  the  lost  cause  of  An- 
tony, however,  much  as  she  prized  the  skill  of  the 
mediator,  she  did  not  believe. 

When  he  had  retired,  she  exclaimed  to  Char- 
mian  :  "  Was  I  blind  ?  This  man  is  a  traitor  !  We 
shall  discover  it.     Wherever  Dion  has  taken  his 


CLEOPATRA.  1 25 

young  wife,  let  her  be  carefully  concealed,  not 
from  me,  but  from  this  Syrian.  It  is  easier  to  de- 
fend one's  self  against  the  lion  than  the  scorpion. 
You,  my  friend,  will  see  that  Archibius  seeks  me 
this  very  day.  I  must  talk  with  him,  and — you 
no  longer  have  any  thought  of  a  parting?  An- 
other will  come  soon  enough,  which  will  for- 
ever forbid  these  lips  from  kissing  your  dear 
face." 

As  she  spoke,  she  again  clasped  the  compan- 
ion of  her  childhood  in  her  arms,  and  when  Iras 
entered  to  request  an  audience  for  Lucilius,  An- 
tony's most  faithful  friend,  Cleopatra,  who  had 
noticed  the  younger  woman's  envious  glance  at 
the  embrace,  said :  "  Was  I  mistaken  in  fancying 
that  you  imagined  yourself  slighted  for  Charmian, 
who  is  an  older  friend  ?  That  would  be  wrong ; 
for  I  love  and  need  you  both.  You  are  her  niece, 
and  indebted  to  her  for  much  kindness  from  your 
earliest  childhood.  So,  even  though  you  will  lose 
the  joy  of  revenge  upon  a  hated  enemy,  forget 
what  has  happened,  as  I  did,  and  maintain  your 
former  affectionate  companionship.  I  will  reward 
you  for  it  with  the  only  thing  that  the  daughter 
of  the  wealthy  Krates  cannot  purchase,  yet  which 
she  probably  rates  at  no  low  value — the  love  of 
her  royal  friend." 

With  these  words  she  clasped  Iras  also  in  a 
close  embrace,  and  when  the  latter  left  the  room 
to  summon  Lucilius,  she  thought :  "  No  woman 
29 


126  CLEOPATRA. 

has  ever  won  so  much  love;  perhaps  that  is 
why  she  possesses  so  great  a  treasure  of  it,  and 
can  afford  such  unspeakable  happiness  by  its  be- 
stowal. Or  is  she  so  much  beloved  because  she 
entered  the  world  full  of  its  wealth,  and  dispenses 
it  as  the  sun  diffuses  light  ?  Surely  that  must  be 
the  case.  I  have  reason  to  believe  it,  for  whom 
did  I  ever  love  save  the  Queen  ?  No  one,  not 
even  myself,  and  I  know  no  one  in  whose  love  for 
me  I  can  believe.  But  why  did  Dion,  whom  I 
loved  so  fervently,  disdain  me  ?  Fool !  Why  did 
Mark  Antony  prefer  Cleopatra  to  Octavia,  who 
was  not  less  fair,  whose  heart  was  his,  and  whose 
hand  held  the  sovereignty  of  half  the  world  ? " 

Passing  on  as  she  spoke,  she  soon  returned, 
ushering  the  Roman  Lucilius  into  the  presence  of 
the  Queen.  A  gallant  deed  had  bound  this  man  to 
Antony.  After  the  battle  of  Philippi,  when  the 
army  of  the  republicans  fled,  Brutus  had  been  on 
the  point  of  being  seized  by  the  enemy's  horse- 
men ;  but  Lucilius,  at  the  risk  of  being  cut  down, 
had  personated  him,  and  thereby,  though  but  for  a 
short  time,  rescued  him.  This  had  seemed  to  An- 
tony unusual  and  noble  and,  in  his  generous  man- 
ner, he  had  not  only  forgiven  him,  but  bestowed 
his  favour  upon  him.  Lucilius  was  grateful,  and 
gave  him  the  same  fidelity  he  had  showed  to  Bru- 
tus. At  Actium  he  had  risked  Antony's  favour  to 
prevent  his  deserting  Cleopatra  after  the  battle, 
and  then  accompanied  him  in  his  flight.     Now  he 


CLEOPATRA. 


127 


was  bearing  him  company  in  his  seclusion  on  the 
Choma. 

The  grey-haired  man  who,  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore, had  retained  all  the  vigour  of  youth,  ap- 
proached the  Queen  with  bowed  head  and  sad- 
dened heart.  His  face,  so  regular  in  its  contours, 
had  undergone  a  marked  change  within  the  past 
few  weeks.  The  cheeks  were  sunken,  the  features 
had  grown  sharper,  and  there  was  a  sorrowful 
expression  in  the  eyes,  which,  when  informing 
Cleopatra  of  his  friend's  condition,  glittered  with 
tears. 

Before  the  hapless  battle  he  was  one  of  Cleo- 
patra's most  enthusiastic  admirers ;  but  since  he 
had  been  forced  to  see  his  friend  and  benefactor 
risk  fame,  happiness,  and  honour  to  follow  the 
Queen,  he  had  cherished  a  feeling  of  bitter  resent- 
ment towards  her.  He  would  certainly  have 
spared  himself  this  mission,  iiad  he  not  been  sure 
that  she  who  had  brought  her  lover  to  ruin  was 
the  only  person  who  could  rouse  him  from  spirit- 
less languor  to  fresh  energy  and  interest  in 
life. 

From  motives  of  friendship,  urged  by  no  one,  he 
came  unbidden  to  the  woman  whom  he  had  former- 
ly so  sincerely  admired,  to  entreat  her  to  cheer  the 
unfortunate  man,  rouse  him,  and  remind  him  of  his 
duty.  He  had  little  news  to  impart;  for  on  the 
voyage  she  had  herself  witnessed  long  enough  the 
pitiable  condition  of  her  husband.     Now  Antony 


128  CLEOPATRA. 

was  beginning  to  be  content  in  it,  and  this  was 
what  most  sorely  troubled  the  faithful  friend. 

The  Imperator  had  called  the  little  palace  which 
he  occupied  on  the  Choma  his  Timonium,  because 
he  compared  himself  with  the  famous  Athenian 
misanthrope  who,  after  fortune  abandoned  him,  had 
also  been  betrayed  by  many  of  his  former  friends. 
Even  at  Tsenarum  he  had  thought  of  returning  to 
the  Choma,  and  by  means  of  a  wall,  which  would 
separate  it  from  the  mainland,  rendering  it  as  in- 
accessible as — according  to  rumour — the  grave  of 
Timon  at  Halae  near  Athens.  Gorgias  had  erected 
it,  and  whoever  wished  to  visit  the  hermit  was 
forced  to  go  by  sea  and  request  admittance,  which 
was  granted  to  few. 

Cleopatra  listened  to  Lucilius  with  sympathy, 
and  then  asked  whether  there  was  no  way  of  cheer- 
ing or  comforting  the  wretched  man. 

"  No,  your  Majesty^"  he  replied.  "  His  favourite 
occupation  is  to  recall  what  he  once  possessed,  but 
only  to  show  the  uselessness  of  these  memories. 
*  What  joys  has  life  not  offered  me  ? '  he  asks,  and 
then  adds :  *  But  they  were  repeated  again  and 
again,  and  after  being  enjoyed  for  the  tenth  time 
they  became  monotonous  and  lost  their  charm. 
Then  they  caused  satiety  to  the  verge  of  loathing.* 
Only  necessary  things,  such  as  bread  and  water,  he 
says,  possess  real  value ;  but  he  desires  neither,  be- 
cause he  has  even  less  taste  for  them  than  for  the 
dainties  which  spoil  a  man's  morrow.     Yesterday, 


CLEOPATRA.     •  1 29 

in  a  specially  gloomy  hour,  he  spoke  of  gold.  This 
was  perhaps  most  worthy  of  desire.  The  mere 
sight  of  it  awakened  pleasant  hopes,  because  it 
might  afford  so  many  gratifications.  Then  he 
laughed  bitterly,  exclaiming  that  those  joys  were 
the  very  ones  which  produced  the  most  disagree- 
able satiety.  Even  gold  was  not  worth  the  trouble 
of  stretching  out  one's  hand. 

"  He  is  fond  of  enlarging  upon  such  fancies, 
and  finds  images  to  make  his  meaning  clear. 

"  *  In  the  snow  upon  the  highest  mountain-peak 
the  feet  grow  cold,'  he  said.  *  In  the  mire  they 
are  warm,  but  the  dark  mud  is  ugly  and  clings  to 
them.' 

"  Then  I  remarked  that  between  the  morass  and 
the  mountain-snows  lie  sunny  valleys  where  life 
would  be  pleasant ;  but  he  flew  into  a  rage,  vehe- 
mently protesting  that  he  would  never  be  content 
with  the  pitiable  middle  course  of  Horace.  Then 
he  exclaimed :  *  Ay,  I  am  vanquished.  Octavi- 
anus  and  his  Agrippa  are  the  conquerors;  but  if  a 
rock  mutilates  or  an  elephant's  clumsy  foot  crushes 
me,  I  am  nevertheless  of  a  higher  quality  than 
either.' " 

"  There  spoke  the  old  Mark  Antony !  "  cried 
Cleopatra ;  but  again  Lucilius's  loyal  heart  throbbed 
with  resentment  against  the  woman  who  had  fos- 
tered the  recklessness  which  had  brought  his  power- 
ful friend  to  ruin,  and  he  continued  : 

"  But  he  often  sees  himself  in  a  different  light. 


I30  CLEOPATRA. 

*  No  writer  could  invent  a  more  unworthy  life  than 
mine,'  he  exclaimed  recently.  *  A  farce  ending  in 
a  tragedy.'  " 

Lucilius  might  have  added  still  harsher  sayings, 
but  the  sorrowful  expression  in  the  tearful  eyes  of 
the  afflicted  Queen  silenced  them  upon  his  lips. 

Yet  Cleopatra's  name  blended  with  most  of  the 
words  uttered  by  the  broken-spirited  man.  Some- 
times it  was  associated  with  the  most  furious  re- 
proaches, but  more  frequently  with  expressions  of 
boundless  delight  and  wild  outbursts  of  fervent 
longing,  and  this  was  what  inspired  Lucilius  with 
the  hope  that  the  Queen's  influence  would  be  effec- 
tual with  his  friend.  Therefore  he  repeated  some 
especially  ardent  words,  to  which  Cleopatra  listened 
with  grateful  joy. 

Yet,  when  Lucilius  paused,  she  remarked  that 
doubtless  the  misanthropist  had  spoken  of  her,  and 
probably  of  Octavia  also,  in  quite  a  different  way. 
She  was  prepared  for  the  worst,  for  she  was  one 
of  the  rocks  against  which  his  greatness  had  been 
shattered. 

This  reminded  Lucilius  of  the  comment  Antony 
had  made  upon  the  three  women  whom  he  had 
wedded,  and  he  answered  reluctantly  :  "  Fulvia,  the 
wife  of  his  youth — I  knew  the  bold,  hot-blooded 
woman,  the  former  wife  of  Clodius — he  called  the 
tempest  which  swelled  his  sails." 

"Yes,  yes!"  cried  Cleopatra.  "So  she  did. 
He  owes  her  much ;  but  I,  too,  am  indebted  to  the 


CLEOPATRA. 


131 


dead  Fulvia.     She  taught   him  to   recognize  and 
yield  to  woman's  power." 

"  Not  always  to  his  advantage,"  retorted  Lu- 
cilius,  whose  resentment  was  revived  by  the  last 
sentence  and,  without  heeding  the  faint  flush  on 
the  Queen's  cheek,  he  added  :  "  Of  Octavia  he  said 
that  she  was  the  straight  path  which  leads  to  hap- 
piness, and  those  who  are  content  to  walk  in  it  are 
acceptable  to  gods  and  men." 

"  Then  why  did  he  not  suffer  it  to  content 
him  ?  "  cried  Cleopatra  wrathfully. 

"Fulvia's  school,"  replied  the  Roman,  "was 
probably  the  last  where  he  would  learn  the  mod- 
eration which — as  you  know — is  so  alien  to  his 
nature.  His  opinion  of  the  quiet  valleys  and  mid- 
dle course  you  have  just  heard." 

*  *  But  I,  what  have  /  been  to  him  ? "  urged  the 
Queen. 

Lucilius  bent  his  gaze  for  a  short  time  on  the 
floor,  then  answered  hesitatingly  : 

"You  asked  to  hear,  and  the  Queen's  command 
must  be  obeyed.  He  compared  your  Majesty  to  a 
delicious  banquet  given  to  celebrate  a  victory,  at 
which  the  guests,  crowned  with  garlands,  revel  be- 
fore the  battle " 

"Which  is  lost,"  said  the  Queen  hurriedly,  in 
a  muffled  voice.  "  The  comparison  is  apt.  Now, 
after  the  defeat,  it  would  be  absurd  to  prepare 
another  feast.  The  tragedy  is  closing,  so  the  play 
(doubtless  he  said  so)  which  preceded  it  would  be 


132 


CLEOPATRA. 


but  a  wearisome  repetition  if  performed  a  second 
time.  One  thing,  it  is  true,  seems  desirable — a 
closing  act  of  reconciliation.  If  you  think  it  is  in 
my  power  to  recall  my  husband  to  active  life,  rely 
upon  me.  The  banquet  of  which  he  spoke  occu- 
pied long  years.  The  dessert  will  consume  little 
time,  but  I  am  ready  to  serve  it.  When  I  asked 
permission  to  visit  him  he  refused.  What  plan  of 
meeting  have  you  arranged  ?  " 

"  That  I  will  leave  to  your  feminine  delicacy 
of  feeling,"  replied  Lucilius.  "Yet  I  have  come 
with  a  request  whose  fulfilment  will  perhaps  con- 
tain the  answer.  Eros,  Mark  Antony's  faithful 
body-slave,  humbly  petitions  your  Majesty  to  grant 
him  a  few  minutes'  audience.  You  know  the 
worthy  fellow.  He  would  die  for  you  and  his 
master,  and  he — I  once  heard  from  your  lips  the 
remark  of  King  Antiochus,  that  no  man  was  great 
to  his  body-slave — thus  Eros  sees  his  master's 
weaknesses  and  lofty  qualities  from  a  nearer 
point  of  view  than  we,  and  he  is  shrewd.  Antony 
gave  him  his  freedom  long  ago,  and  if  your  Majes- 
ty does  not  object  to  receiving  a  man  so  low  in 
station " 

"Let  him  come,"  replied  Cleopatra.  "Your 
demand  upon  me  is  just.  Unhappily,  I  am  but  too 
well  aware  of  the  atonement  due  your  friend.  Be- 
fore you  came,  I  was  engaged  in  making  prepa- 
rations for  the  fulfilment  of  one  of  his  warmest 
wishes." 


CLEOPATRA.  1 33 

With  these  words  she  dismissed  the  Roman. 
Her  feelings  as  she  watched  his  departure  were 
of  very  mingled  character.  The  yearning  for  the 
happiness  of  which  she  had  been  so  long  deprived 
had  again  awaked,  while  the  unkind  words  which 
he  had  applied  to  her  still  rankled  in  her  heart. 
But  the  door  had  scarcely  closed  behind  Lucilius 
when  the  usher  announced  a  deputation  of  the 
members  of  the  museum. 

The  learned  gentlemen  came  to  complain  of 
the  wrong  which  had  been  done  to  their  colleague, 
Didymus,  and  also  to  express  their  loyalty  during 
these  trying  times.  Cleopatra  assured  them  of 
her  favour,  and  said  that  she  had  already  offered 
ample  compensation  to  the  old  philosopher.  In  a 
certain  sense  she  was  one  of  themselves.  They 
all  knew  that,  from  early  youth,  she  had  honoured 
and  shared  their  labours.  In  proof  of  this,  she 
would  present  to  the  library  of  the  museum  the 
two  hundred  thousand  volumes  from  Pergamus, 
one  of  the  most  valuable  gifts  Mark  Antony  had 
ever  bestowed  upon  her,  and  which  she  had  hitherto 
regarded  merely  as  a  loan.  This  she  hoped  would 
repay  Didymus  for  the  injury  which,  to  her  deep 
regret,  had  been  inflicted  upon  him,  and  at  least 
partially  repair  the  loss  sustained  by  the  former 
library  of  the  museum  during  the  conflagration  in 
the  Bruchium. 

The  sages,  eagerly  assuring  her  of  their  grati- 
tude and  devotion,  retired.     Most  of  them  were 


134 


CLEOPATRA. 


personally  known  to  Cleopatra  who,  to  their  mu- 
tual pleasure  and  advantage,  had  measured  her 
intellectual  powers  with  the  most  brilliant  minds 
of  their  body. 

The  sun  had  already  set,  when  a  procession  of 
the  priests  of  Serapis,  the  chief  god  of  the  city, 
whose  coming  had  been  announced  the  day  before, 
appeared  at  Lochias.  Accompanied  by  torch  and 
lantern  bearers,  it  moved  forward  with  slow  and 
solemn  majesty.  In  harmony  with  the  nature  of 
Serapis,  there  were  many  reminders  of  death. 

The  meaning  of  every  image,  every  standard, 
every  shrine,  every  peculiarity  of  the  music  and 
singing,  was  familiar  to  the  Queen.  Even  the 
changing  colours  of  the  lights  referred  to  the  course 
of  growth  and  decay  in  the  universe  and  in  human 
life,  and  the  magnificent  close  of  the  chant  of  hom- 
age which  represented  the  reception  of  the  royal 
soul  into  the  essence  of  the  deity,  the  apotheosis  of 
the  sovereign,  was  well  suited  to  stir  the  heart; 
for  a  sea  of  light  unexpectedly  flooded  the  whole 
procession  and,  while  its  glow  irradiated  the  huge 
pile  of  the  palace,  the  sea  with  its  forest  of  ships 
and  masts,  and  the  shore  with  its  temples,  pylons, 
obelisks,  and  superb  buildings,  all  the  choruses, 
accompanied  by  the  music  of  sackbuts,  cymbals, 
and  lutes,  blended  in  a  mighty  hymn,  whose  waves 
of  sound  rose  to  the  star-strewn  sky  and  reached 
the  open  sea  beyond  the  Pharos. 

Many  a  symbolical  image  suggested  death  and 


CLEOPATRA. 


135 


the  resurrection,  defeat  and  a  victory  following  it 
by  the  aid  of  great  Serapis ;  and  when  the  torches 
retired,  vanishing  in  the  darkness,  with  the  last 
notes  of  the  chanting  of  the  priests,  Cleopatra 
raised  her  head,  feeling  as  if  the  vow  she  had  made 
during  the  gloomy  singing  of  the  aged  men  and 
the  extinguishing  of  the  torches  had  received  the 
approval  of  the  deity  brought  by  her  forefathers 
to  Alexandria  and  enthroned  there  to  unite  in  his 
own  person  the  nature  of  the  Greek  and  the  Egyp- 
tian gods. 

Her  tomb  was  to  be  built  and,  if  destiny  was 
fulfilled,  to  receive  her  lover  and  herself.  She 
had  perceived  from  Antony's  bitter  words,  as  well 
as  the  looks  and  tones  of  Lucilius,  that  he,  as 
well  as  the  man  to  whom  her  heart  still  clung  with 
indissoluble  bonds,  held  her  responsible  for  Actium 
and  the  fall  of  his  greatness. 

The  world,  she  knew,  would  imitate  them,  but  it 
should  learn  that  if  love  had  robbed  the  greatest 
man  of  his  day  of  fame  and  sovereignty,  that  love 
had  been  worthy  of  the  highest  price. 

The  belief  which  had  just  been  symbolically 
represented  to  her — that  it  was  allotted  to  the 
vanishing  light  to  rise  again  in  new  and  radiant 
splendour — she  would  maintain  for  the  present, 
though  the  best  success  could  scarcely  lead  to 
anything  more  than  merely  fanning  the  glimmer- 
ing spark  and  deferring  its  extinction. 

For  herself  there  was  no  longer  any  great  vie- 


136 


CLEOPATRA. 


tory  to  win  which  would  be  worth  the  conflict. 
Yet  the  weapons  must  not  rest  until  the  end.  An- 
tony must  not  perish,  growling,  like  a  second 
Timon,  or  a  wild  beast  caught  in  a  snare.  She 
would  rekindle,  though  but  for  the  last  blaze,  the 
fire  of  his  hero-nature,  which  blind  love  for  her 
and  the  magic  spell  that  had  enabled  her  to  bind 
his  will  had  covered  for  a  time  with  ashes. 

While  listening  to  the  resurrection  hymn  of  the 
priests  of  Serapis,  she  had  asked  herself  if  it  might 
not  be  possible  to  give  Antony,  when  he  had  been 
roused  to  fresh  energy,  the  son  of  Caesar  as  a  com- 
panion in  arms.  True,  she  had  found  the  boy  in  a 
mood  far  different  from  the  one  for  which  she  had 
hoped.  If  he  had  once  been  carried  on  to  a  bold 
deed,  it  seemed  to  have  exhausted  his  energy ;  for 
he  remained  absorbed  in  the  most  pitiable  love- 
sickness.  Yet  he  had  not  recovered  from  his  ill- 
ness. When  he  was  better  he  would  surely  wake 
to  active  interest  in  the  events  which  threatened 
to  exert  so  great  an  influence  on  his  own  existence 
and,  like  the  humblest  slave,  lament  the  defeat  of 
Actium.  Hitherto  he  had  listened  to  the  tidings 
of  battle  which  had  reached  his  ears  with  an  indif- 
ference that  seemed  intelligible  and  pardonable 
only  when  attributed  to  his  wound. 

His  tutor  Rhodon  had  just  requested  a  leave 
of  absence,  remarking  that  Caesarion  would  not 
lack  companions,  since  he  was  expecting  Antyllus 
and  other  youths  of  his  own  age.     A  flood  of  light 


CLEOPATRA.  1 37 

Streamed  from  the  windows  of  the  reception  hall 
of  the  *^  King  of  kings."  There  was  still  time  to 
seek  him  and  make  him  understand  what  was  at 
stake.  Ah  !  if  she  could  but  succeed  in  awaking 
his  father's  spirit !  If  that  culpable  attack  should 
prove  the  harbinger  of  future  deeds  of  manly 
daring ! 

No  interview  with  him  as  yet  had  encouraged 
this  expectation,  but  a  mother's  heart  easily  sees, 
even  in  disappointment,  a  step  which  leads  to  a 
new  hope.  When  Charmian  entered  to  announce 
Antony's  body-slave,  she  sent  word  to  him  to  wait, 
and  requested  her  friend  to  accompany  her  to  her 
son. 

As  they  approached  the  apartments  occupied 
by  Caesarion,  Antyllus's  loud  voice  reached  them 
through  the  open  door,  whose  curtain  was  only 
half  drawn,  The  first  word  which  the  Queen  dis- 
tinguished was  her  own  name ;  so,  motioning  to 
her  companion,  she  stood  still.  Barine  was  again 
the  subject  of  conversation. 

Antony's  son  was  relating  what  Alexas  had  told 
him.  Cleopatra,  the  Syrian  had  asserted,  intend- 
ed to  send  the  young  beauty  to  the  mines  or  into 
exile,  and  severely  punish  Dion;  but  both  had 
made  their  escape.  The  Ephebi  had  behaved 
treacherously  by  taking  sides  with  their  foe.  But 
this  was  because  they  were  not  yet  invested  with 
their  robes.  He  hoped  to  induce  his  father  to  do 
this  as  soon  as  he  shook  off  his  pitiable  misan- 


138  '  CLEOPATRA. 

thropy.  And  he  must  also  be  persuaded  to  direct 
the  pursuit  of  the  fugitives.  "  This  will  not  be 
difficult,"  he  cried  insolently,  **  for  the  old  man 
appreciates  beauty,  and  has  himself  cast  an  eye  on 
the  singer.  If  they  capture  her,  I'll  guarantee 
nothing,  you  *  King  of  kings ! '  for,  spite  of  his  grey 
beard,  he  can  cut  us  all  out  with  the  women,  and 
Barine — as  we  have  heard — doesn't  think  a  man  of 
much  importance  until  his  locks  begin  to  grow  thin. 
I  gave  Derketseus  orders  to  send  all  his  men  in 
pursuit.  He's  as  cunning  as  a  fox,  and  the  police 
are  compelled  to  obey  him." 

"  If  I  were  not  forced  to  lie  here  like  a  dead 
donkey,  I  would  soon  find  her,"  sighed  Caesarion. 
"  Night  or  day,  she  is  never  out  of  my  mind.  I 
have  already  spent  everything  I  possessed  in  the 
search.  Yesterday  I  sent  for  the  steward  Seleukus. 
What  is  the  use  of  being  my  mother's  son,  and  the 
fat  little  fellow  isn't  specially  scrupulous  !  He  will 
do  nothing,  yet  there  must  be  gold  enough.  The 
Queen  has  sunk  millions  in  the  sand  on  the  Syrian 
frontier  of  the  Delta.  There  is  to  be  a  square  hole 
or  something  of  the  sort  dug  there  to  hide  the 
fleet.  I  only  half  understand  the  absurd  plan. 
The  money  might  have  paid  hundreds  of  spies. 
So  talents  are  thrown  away,  and  the  strong-box  is 
locked  against  the  son.  But  I'll  find  one  that  will 
open  to  me.  I  must  have  her,  though  I  risk  the 
crown.  It  always  sounds  like  a  jeer  when  they 
call  me  the  King  of  kings.     I  am  not  fit  for  sov- 


CLEOPATRA. 


139 


ereignty.  Besides,  the  throne  will  be  seized  ere  I 
really  ascend  it.  We  are  conquered,  and  if  we 
succeed  in  concluding  a  peace,  which  will  secure 
us  life  and  a  little  more,  we  must  be  content.  For 
my  part,  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  a  country  estate 
6n  the  water,  a  sufficient  supply  of  money  and, 
above  all,  Barine.  What  do  I  care  for  Egypt  ? 
As  Caesar's  son  I  ought  to  have  ruled  Rgme ;  but 
the  immortals  knew  what  they  were  doing  when 
they  prompted  my  father  to  disinherit  me.  To 
govern  the  world  one  must  have  less  need  of  sleep. 
Really — you  know  it — I  always  feel  tired,  even 
when  I  am  well.  People  must  let  me  alone !  Your 
father,  too,  Antyllus,  is  Laying  down  his  arms  and 
letting  things  go  as  they  will." 

"  Ah,  so  he  is  I "  cried  Antony's  son  indig- 
nantly. "But  just  wait!  The  sleeping  lion  will 
wake  again,  and,  when  he  uses  his  teeth  and 
paws " 

"  My  mother  will  run  away,  and  your  father 
will  follow  her,"  replied  Caesarion  with  a  melan- 
choly smile,  wholly  untinged  by  scorn.  "  All  is 
lost.  But  conquered  kings  and  queens  are  per- 
mitted to  live.  Caesar's  son  will  not  be  exhibited 
to  the  Quirites  in  the  triumphal  procession.  Rho- 
don  says  that  there  would  be  an  insurrection  if  I 
appeared  in  the  Forum.  If  I  go  there  again,  it 
certainly  will  not  be  in  Octavianus's  train.  I  am 
not  suited  for  that  kind  of  ignominy.  It  would 
stifle  me    and,   ere  I   would   grant   any   man    the 


I40 


GLEOPATRA. 


pleasure  of  dragging  the  son  of  Caesar  behind  him 
to  increase  his  own  renown,  I  would  put  an  end 
ten,  nay,  a  hundred  times  over,  in  the  good  old  Ro- 
man fashion,  to  my  life,  which  is  by  no  means  es- 
pecially attractive.  What  is  sweeter  than  sound 
sleep,  and  who  will  disturb  and  rouse  me  wherf 
Death  has  lowered  his  torch  before  me  ?  But 
now  I  thkik  I  shall  be  spared  this  extreme.  What- 
ever else  they  may  inflict  upon  me  will  scarcely 
exceed  my  powers  of  endurance.  If  any  one  has 
learned  contentment  it  is  I.  The  King  of  kings 
and  Co-Regent  of  the  Great  Queen  has  been 
trained  persistently,  and  with  excellent  success,  to 
be  content.  What  should  I  be,  and  what  am  I  ? 
Yet  I  do  not  complain,  and  wish  to  accuse  no  one. 
We  need  not  summon  Octavianus,  and  when  he  is 
here  let  him  take  what  he  will  if  he  only  spares 
the  lives  of  my  mother,  the  twins,  and  little  Alex- 
ander, whom  I  love,  and  bestows  on  me  the  estate 
— the  main  thing  is  that  it  must  be  full  of  fish- 
ponds— of  which  I  spoke.  The  private  citizen 
Caesarion,  who  devotes  his  time  to  fishing  and  the 
books  he  likes  to  read,  will  gladly  be  allowed  to 
choose  a  wife  to  suit  his  own  taste.  The  more 
humble  her  origin,  the  more  easily  I  shall  win  the 
consent  of  the  Roman  guardian." 

"  Do  you  know,  Caesarion,"  interrupted  An- 
tony's unruly  son,  leaning  back  on  the  cushions 
and  stretching  his  feet  farther  in  front  of  him,  "  if 
you  were  not  the  King  of  kings  I   should  be  in- 


CLEOPATRA.  I4I 

dined  to  call  you  a  base,  mean-natured  fellow  ! 
One  who  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  the  son  of 
Julius  Caesar  ought  not  to  forget  it  so  disgrace- 
fully. My  gall  overflows  at  your  whimpering. 
By  the  dog!  It  was  one  of  my  most  senseless 
pranks  to  take  you  to  the  singer.  I  should  think 
there  would  be  other  things  to  occupy  the  mind  of 
the  King  of  kings.  Besides,  Barine  cares  no  more 
for  you  than  the  last  fish  you  caught.  She  showed 
that  plainly  enough.  I  say  once  more,  if  Derke- 
taeus's  men  succeed  in  capturing  the  beauty  who 
has  robbed  you  of  your  senses,  she  won't  go  with 
you  to  your  miserable  estate  to  cook  the  fish  you 
catch,  for  if  we  have  her  again,  and  my  father 
holds  out  his  hand  to  her,  all  your  labour  will  be  in 
vain.  He  saw  the  fair  enchantress  only  twice,  and 
had  no  time  to  become  better  acquainted,  but  she 
captured  his  fancy  and,  if  I  remind  him  of  her, 
who  knows  what  will  happen  ?  '* 

Here  Cleopatra  beckoned  to  her  companion 
and  returned  to  her  apartments  with  drooping 
head.  On  reaching  them,  she  broke  the  silence, 
saying:  "Listening,  Charmian,  is  unworthy  of  a 
Queen ;  but  if  all  listeners  heard  things  so  pain- 
ful, one  need  no  longer  guard  keyholes  and  chinks 
of  doors.  I  must  recover  my  calmness  ere  I  re- 
ceive Eros.  One  thing  more.  Is  Barine's  hiding- 
place  secure  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — Archibius  says  so.** 
"  Very  well.     They  are  searching  for  her  zeal- 
30 


142 


CLEOPATRA. 


ously  enough,  as  you  heard,  and  she  must  not  be 
found.  I  am  glad  that  she  did  not -set  a  snare  for 
the  boy.  How  a  jealous  heart  leads  us  astray  ! 
Were  she  here,  I  would  grant  her  anything  to 
make  amends  for  my  unjust  suspicion  of  her  and 
Antony.  And  to  think  that  Alexas — but  for  your 
interposition  he  would  have  succeeded— meant  to 
send  her  to  the  mines !  It  is  a  terrible  warning  to 
be  on  my  guard.  Against  whom  ?  First  of  all, 
my  own  weakness.  This  is  a  day  of  recognition. 
A  noble  aim,  but  on  the  way  the  feet  bleed,  and 
the  heart — ah  !  Charmian,  the  poor,  weak,  disap- 
pointed heart !  " 

She  sighed  heavily,  and  supported  her  head  on 
the  arm  resting  upon  the  table  at  her  side.  The 
polished,  exquisitely  grained  surface  of  thya-wood 
was  worth  a  large  estate ;  the  gems  in  the  rings 
and  bracelets  which  glittered  on  her  hand  and  arm 
would  have  purchased  a  principality.  This  thought 
entered  her  mind  and,  overpowered  by  a  feeling  of 
angry  disgust,  she  would  fain  have  cast  all  the 
costly  rubbish  into  the  sea  or  the  destroying 
flames. 

She  would  gladly  have  been  a  beggar,  content 
with  the  barley  bread  of  Epicurus,  she  said  to  her- 
self, if  in  return  she  could  but  have  inspired  her 
son  even  with  the  views  of  the  reckless  blusterer 
Antyllus.  Her  worst  fears  had  not  pictured  Caesa- 
rion  so  weak,  so  insignificant.  She  could  no  longer 
rest  upon  her  cushions;  and  while,  with  drooping 


CLEOPATRA. 


143 


head,  she  gazed  backward  over  the  past,  the  accus- 
ing voice  in  her  own  breast  cried  out  that  she  was 
reaping  what  she  had  sowed.  She  had  repressed, 
curbed  the  boy's  awakening  will  to  secure  his  obe- 
dience ;  understood  how  to  prevent  any  exercise  of 
his  ability  or  efforts  in  wider  circles. 

True,  it  had  been  done  on  many  a  pretext. 
Why  should  not  her  son  taste  the  quiet  happiness 
which  she  had  enjoyed  in  the  garden  of  Epicurus  ? 
And  was  not  the  requirement  that  whoever  is  to 
command  must  first  learn  to  obey,  based  upon  old 
experiences  ? 

But  this  was  a  day  of  reckoning  and  insight,  and 
for  the  first  time  she  found  courage  to  confess 
that  her  own  burning  ambition  had  marked  out 
the  course  of  Caesarion's  education.  She  had  not 
repressed  his  talents  from  cool  calculation,  but  it 
had  been  pleasant  to  her  to  see  him  grow  up  free 
from  aspirations.  She  had  granted  the  dreamer 
repose  without  arousing  him.  How  often  she  had 
rejoiced  over  the  certainty  that  this  son,  on  whom 
Antony,  after  his  victory  over  the  Parthians,  had 
bestowed  the  title  of  Co-Regent,  would  never  rebel 
against  his  mother's  guardianship  !  The  welfare 
of  the  state  had  doubtless  been  better  secured 
in  her  trained  hands  than  in  those  of  an  inex- 
perienced boy.  And  the  proud  consciousness  of 
power!  Her  heart  swelled.  So  long  as  she  lived 
she  would  remain  Queen.  To  transfer  the  sover- 
eignty to  another,  whatever  name  he  might  bear,  had 


144 


CLEOPATRA. 


seemed  to  her  impossible.  Now  she  knew  how  little 
her  son  yearned  for  lofty  things.  Her  heart  con- 
tracted. The  saying  "  You  reap  what  you  sowed  " 
gave  her  no  peace,  and  wherever  she  turned  in 
her  past  life  she  perceived  the  fruit  of  the  seeds 
which  she  had  buried  m  the  ground.  The  field  was 
sinking  under  the  burden  of  the  ears  of  misfortune. 
The  harvest  was  ripe  for  the  reaper ;  but,  ere  he 
raised  the  sickle,  the  owner's  claim  must  be  pre- 
served. Gorgias  must  hasten  the  building  of  the 
tomb;  the  end  could  not  be  long  deferred.  How 
to  shape  this  worthily,  if  the  victor  left  her  no  other 
choice,  had  just  been  pointed  out  by  the  son  of 
whom  she  was  ashamed.  His  father's  noble  blood 
forbade  him  to  bear  the  deepest  ignominy  with  the 
patience  his  mother  had  inculcated. 

It  had  grown  late  ere  she  admitted  Antony's 
body-slave,  but  for  her  the  business  of  the  night 
was  just  commencing.  After  he  had  gone  she 
would  be  engaged  for  hours  with  the  commanders 
of  the  army,  the  fleet,  the  fortifications.  The  so- 
liciting of  allies,  too.  must  be  carried  on  by  means 
of  letters  containing  the  most  stirring  appeals  to 
the  heart. 

Eros,  Antony's  body-slave,  appeared.  His  kind 
eyes  filled  with  tears  at  the  sight  of  the  Queen. 
Grief  had  not  lessened  the  roundness  of  his  hand- 
some face,  but  the  expression  of  mischievous,  often 
insolent,  gaiety  had  given  place  to  a  sorrowful  droop 
of  the  lips,  and  his  fair  hair  had  begun  to  turn  grey. 


CLEOPATRA.  I45 

Lucilius's  information  that  Cleopatra  had  con- 
sented to  make  advances  to  Antony  had  seemed 
like  the  rising  of  the  sun  after  a  long  period  of 
darkness.  In  his  eyes,  not  only  his  master,  but 
everything  else,  must  yield  to  the  power  of  the 
Queen.  He  had  heard  Antony  at  Tarsus  inveigh 
against  "the  Egyptian  serpent,"  protesting  that 
he  would  make  her  pay  so  dearly  for  her  question- 
able conduct  towards  himself  and  the  cause  of 
Caesar  that  the  treasure-houses  on  the  Nile  should 
be  like  an  empty  wine-skin  ;  yet,  a  few  hours  after, 
body  and  soul  had  been  in  her  toils.  So  it  had 
continued  till  the  battle  of  Actium.  Now  there 
was  nothing  more  to  lose  ;  but  what  might  not 
Cleopatra  bestow  upon  his  master  ?  He  thought  of 
the  delightful  years  during  which  his  face  had 
grown  so  round,  and  every  day  fresh  pleasures  and 
spectacles,  such  as  the  world  would  never  again 
witness,  had  satiated  eye  and  ear,  palate  and  nostril, 
— nay,  even  curiosity.  If  they  could  be  repeated, 
even  in  a  simpler  form,  so  much  the  better.  His 
main — nay,  almost  his  sole — desire  was  to  release 
his  lord  from  this  wretched  solitude,  this  horrible 
misanthropy,  so  ill  suited  to  his  nature. 

Cleopatra  had  kept  him  waiting  two  hours,  but 
he  would  willingly  have  loitered  in  the  anteroom 
thrice  as  long  if  she  only  determined  to  follow  his 
counsel.  It  was  worth  considering,  and  Eros  did 
not  hesitate  to  give  it.  No  one  could  foresee  how 
Antony  would  greet  Cleopatra  herself,  so  he  pro- 


146  CLEOPATRA. 

posed  that  she  should  send  Charmian — not  alone, 
but  with  her  clever  hunch-backed  maid,  to  whom 
the  Imperator  himself  had  given  the  name  "  Aiso- 
pion."  He  liked  Charmian,  and  could  never  see 
the  dusky  maid  without  jesting  with  her.  If  his 
master  could  once  be  induced  to  show  a  cheerful 
face  to  others  besides  himself,  Eros,  and  perceived 
how  much  better  it  was  to  laugh  than  to  lapse  into 
sullen  reverie  and  anger,  much  would  be  gained, 
and  Charmian  would  do  the  rest,  if  she  brought  a 
loving  message  from  her  royal  mistress. 

Hitherto  Cleopatra  had  not  interrupted  him; 
but  when  she  expressed  the  opinion  that  a  slave's 
nimble  tongue  would  have  little  power  to  change 
the  deep  despondency  of  a  man  overwhelmed  by 
the  most  terrible  disaster,  Eros  waved  his  short, 
broad  hand,  saying:       » 

"I  trust  your  Majesty  will  pardon  the  frank- 
ness of  a  man  so  humble  in  degree,  but  those  in 
high  station  often  permit  us  to  see  what  they  hide 
from  one  another.  Only  the  loftiest  and  the  low- 
liest, the  gods  and  the  slaves,  behold  the  great 
without  disguise.  May  my  ears  be  cropped  if  the 
Imperator's  melancholy  and  misanthropy  are  so 
intense !  All  this  is  a  disguise  which  pleases  him. 
You  know  how,  in  better  days,  he  enjoyed  appear- 
ing as  Dionysus,  and  with  what  wanton  gaiety  he 
played  the  part  of  the  god.  Now  he  is  hiding  his 
real,  cheerful  face  behind  the  mask  of  unsocial 
melancholy,  because  he  thinks  the  former  does  not 


CLEOPATRA. 


147 


suit  this  time  of  misfortune.  True,  he  often  says 
things  which  make  your  skin  creep,  and  frequently 
broods  mournfully  over  his  own  thoughts.  But 
this  never  lasts  long  when  w^e  are  alone.  If  I  come 
in  with  a  very  funny  story,  and  he  doesn't  silence 
me  at  once,  you  can  rely  on  his  surpassing  it  with 
a  still  more  comical  one.  A  short  time  ago  I  re- 
minded him  of  the  fishing  party  when  your  Majesty 
had  a  diver  fasten  a  salted  herring  on  his  hook. 
You  ought  to  have  heard  him  laugh,  and  exclaim 
what  happy  days  those  were.  The  lady  Charmian 
need  only  remind  him  of  them,  and  Aisopion  spice 
the  allusion  with  a  jest.  I'll  give  my  nose — true, 
it's  only  a  small  one,  but  everybody  values  that 
feature  most — if  they  don't  persuade  him  to  leave 
that  horrible  crow's  nest  in  the  middle  of  the  sea. 
They  must  remind  him  of  the  twins  and  little 
Alexander;  for  when  he  permits  me  to  talk  about 
them  his  brow  smooths  most  speedily.  He  still 
speaks  very  often  to  Lucilius  and  his  other  friends 
of  his  great  plans  of  forming  a  powerful  empire 
in  the  East,  with  Alexandria  as  its  principal  city. 
His  warrior  blood  is  not  yet  calm.  A  short  time 
ago  I  was  even  ordered  to  sharpen  the  curved 
Persian  scimitar  he  likes  to  wield.  One  could  not 
know  what  service  it  might  be,  he  said.  Then  he 
swung  his  mighty  arm.  By  the  dog !  The  grey- 
haired  giant  still  has  the  strength  of  three  youths. 
When  he  is  once  more  with  you,  among  warriors 
and  battle  chargers,  all  will  be  well." 


148  CLEOPATRA. 

"  Let  us  hope  so,"  replied  Cleopatra  kindly, 
and  promised  to  follow  his  advice. 

When  Iras,  who  had  taken  Charmian's  place, 
accompanied  the  Queen  to  her  chamber  after  sev- 
eral hours  of  toil,  she  found  her  silent  and  sad. 
Lost  in  thought,  she  accepted  her  attendant's  aid, 
breaking  her  silence  only  after  she  had  gone  to  her 
couch.  "  This  has  been  a  hard  day,  Iras,'*  she 
said  ;  "  it  brought  nothing  save  the  confirmation  of 
an  old  saying,  perhaps  the  most  ancient  in  the 
world :  *  Every  one  will  reap  only  what  he  sows. 
The  plant  which  grows  from  the  seed  you  place  in 
the  earth  may  be  crushed,  but  no  power  in  the 
world  will  compel  the  seed  to  develop  differently 
or  produce  fruit  unlike  what  Nature  has  assigned 
to  it.*  My  seed  was  evil.  This  now  appears  in 
the  time  of  harvest.  But  we  will  yet  bring 
a  handful  of  good  wheat  to  the  storehouses. 
We  will  provide  for  that  while  there  is  time.  I 
will  talk  with  Gorgias  early  to-morrow  morning. 
While  we  were  building,  you  showed  good  taste 
and  often  suggested  new  ideas.  When  Gorgias 
brings  the  plans  for  the  mausoleum  you  shall 
examine  them  with  me.  You  have  a  right  to 
do  so,  for,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  few  will  visit 
the  finished  structure  m.ore  frequently  than  my 
Iras." 

The  girl  started  up  and,  raising  her  hand 
as   if   taking"  a    vow,    exclaimed  :    ^'  Your    tomb 


CLEOPATRA. 


149 


will  vainly  wait  my  visit ;  your  end  will  be  mine 
also. 

"  May  the  gods  preserve  your  youth  from  it !  " 
replied  the  Queen  in  a  tone  of  grave  remonstrance. 
"  We  still  live  and  will  do  battle.'* 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

Night  brought  little  sleep  to  Cleopatra.  Mem- 
ory followed  memory,  plan  was  added  to  plan. 
The  resolve  made  the  day  before  was  the  right  one. 
To-day  she  would  begin  its  execution.  Whatever 
might  happen,  she  was  prepared  for  every  con- 
tingency. 

Ere  she  went  to  her  work  she  granted  a  second 
audience  to  the  Roman  envoy.  Timagenes  exerted 
all  his  powers  of  eloquence,  skill  in  persuasion, 
wit,  and  ingenuity.  He  again  promised  to  Cleo- 
patra life  and  liberty,  and  to  her  children  the 
throne ;  but  when  he  insisted  upon  the  surrender 
or  death  of  Mark  Antony  as  the  first  condition  of 
any  further  negotiations,  Cleopatra  remained  stead- 
fast, and  the  ambassador  set  forth  on  his  way  home 
without  any  pledge. 

After  he  had  gone,  the  Queen  and  Iras  looked 
over  the  plans  for  the  tomb  brought  by  Gorgias, 
but  the  intense  agitation  of  her  soul  distracted 
Cleopatra's  attention,  and  she  begged  him  to  come 
again  at  a  later  hour.  When  she  was  alone,  she 
took  out  the  letters  w^hich  Caesar  and  Antony  had 


CLEOPATRA. 


151 


written  to  her.  How  acute,  subtle,  and  tender 
were  those  of  the  former ;  how  ardent,  impassioned, 
yet  sincere  were  those  of  the  mighty  and  fiery  ora- 
tor, whose  eloquence  swept  the  listening  multitudes 
with  him,  yet  whom  her  little  hand  had  drawn 
wherever  she  desired ! 

Her  heart  throbbed  faster  when  she  thought  of 
the  meeting  with  Antony,  now  close  at  hand  ;  for 
Charmian  had  gone  with  the  Nubian  to  invite  him 
to  join  her  again.  They  had  started  several  hours 
ago,  and  she  awaited  their  return  with  increasing 
impatience.  She  had  summoned  him  for  their  last 
mutual  battle.  That  he  would  come  she  did  not 
doubt.  But  could  she  succeed  in  rekindling  his 
courage  ?  Two  persons  so  closely  allied  should 
sink  and  perish,  still  firmly  united,  in  the  final  bat- 
tle, if  victory  was  denied. 

Archibius  was  now  announced. 

It  soothed  her  merely  to  gaze  into  the  faithful 
countenance,  which  recalled  so  many  of  her  hap- 
piest memories. 

She  opened  her  whole  soul  to  him  without  re- 
serve, and  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  as 
if  restored  to  youth  ;  while  when  she  told  him  that 
she  would  never  sully  herself  by  treachery  to  her 
lover  and  husband,  and  had  resolved  to  die  worthy 
of  her  name,  the  expression  of  his  eyes  revealed 
that  she  had  chosen  the  right  path. 

Ere  she  had"  made  the  request  that  he  should 
undertake  the  education  and  guidance  of  the  chil- 


152 


CLEOPATRA. 


dren,  he  voluntarily  proposed  to  devote  his  best 
powers  to  them.  The  plan  of  uniting  Didymus's 
garden  with  the  Lochias  and  giving  it  to  the  little 
ones  also  met  with  his  approval.  His  sister  had 
already  told  him  that  Cleopatra  had  determined  to 
build  her  tomb.  He  hoped,  he  added,  that  its  doors 
would  not  open  to  her  for  many  years. 

She  shook  her  head  sorrowfully,  exclaiming: 
"  Would  that  I  could  read  every  face  as  I  do  yours  ! 
My  friend  Archibius  wishes  me  a  long  life,  if  any 
one  does;  but  he  is  as  wise  as  he  is  faithful,  and 
therefore  will  consider  that  earthly  life  is  by  no 
means  a  boon  in  every  case.  Besides,  he  says  to 
himself :  ^  Events  are  impending  over  this  Queen 
and  woman,  my  friend,  which  will  perhaps  render 
it  advisable  to  make  use  of  the  great  privilege 
which  the  immortals  bestow  on  human  beings  when 
it  becomes  desirable  for  them  to  leave  the  stage  of 
life.  So  let  her  build  her  tomb.'  Have  I  read  the 
old  familiar  book  aright?" 

"  On  the  whole,  yes,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  But 
it  is  inscribed  upon  its  pages  that  a  great  princess 
and  faithful  mother  can  be  permitted  to  set  forth 
on  the  last  journey,  whence  there  is  no  return,  only 
when " 

"When,"  she  interrupted,  "a  shameful  end 
threatens  to  fall  upon  the  fair  beginning  and  bril- 
liant middle  period,  as  a  swarm  of  locusts  darkens 
the  air  and  devours  and  devastates  the  fields.  I 
know  it,  and  will  act  accordingly." 


CLEOPATRA.  1 53 

"  And,"  added  Archibius,  "  this  end  also  (faith- 
ful to  your  nature)  you  will  shape  regally.  On 
my  way  here  I  met  my  sister  near  the  Choma.  You 
sent  her  to  your  husband.  He  will  grasp  the  prof- 
fered hand.  Now  that  it  is  necessary  to  stake 
everything  or  surrender,  the  grandson  of  Herakles 
will  again  display  his  former  heroic  power.  Per- 
haps, stimulated  and  encouraged  by  the  example 
of  the  woman  he  loves,  he  will  even  force  hostile 
Fate  to  show  him  fresh  favour.'* 

"  Destiny  will  pursue  its  course,"  interrupted 
Cleopatra  firmly.  "  But  Antony  must  help  me  to 
heap  fresh  obstacles  in  the  pathway,  and  when  he 
wishes  to  use  his  giant  strength,  what  masses  of 
rock  his  mighty  arm  can  hurl !  " 

**  And  if  your  lofty  spirit  smooths  the  path  for 
him,  then,  my  royal  mistress " 

"  Even  then  the  close  of  the  tragedy  will  be 
death,  and  every  scene  a  disappointment.  Was  not 
the  plan  of  bringing  the  fleet  across  the  isthmus 
bold  and  full  of  promise  ?  Even  the  professional 
engineers  greeted  it  with  applause,  and  yet  it  proved 
impracticable.  Destiny  dug  its  grave.  And  the 
terrible  omens  before  and  after  Actium,  and  the 
stars — the  stars  !  Everything  points  to  speedy  de- 
struction, everything !  Every  hour  brings  news  of 
the  desertion  of  some  prince  or  general.  As  if  from 
a  watch-tower,  I  now  overlook  what  is  growing 
from  the  seed  I  sowed.  Sterile  ears  or  poisonous 
vegetation,  wherever  I  turn  my  eyes.     And  yet ! 


154 


CLEOPATRA. 


You,  who  know  my  life  from  its  beginning,  tell 
me — must  I  veil  my  head  in  shame  when  the  ques- 
tion is  asked,  what  powers  of  intellect,  what  talents^ 
industry,  and  desire  for  good  Cleopatra  displayed  ?" 
"  No,  my  royal  mistress,  a  thousand  times  no  !  " 
"Yet  the  fruit  of  every  tree  I  planted  degen- 
erated and  decayed.  Csesarion  is  withering  in  the 
flower  of  his  youth — by  whose  fault  I  know  only 
too  well.  You  will  now  take  charge  of  the  educa- 
tion of  the  other  children.  So  it  is  for  you  to  con- 
sider what  brought  me  where  I  now  stand,  and  how 
to  guard  their  life-bark  from  wandering  and  ship- 
wreck." 

''  Let  me  train  them  to  be  human  beings,"  re- 
plied Archibius  gravely,  "  and  preserve  them  from 
the  desire  to  enter  the  lists  with  the  gods.  From 
the  simple  Cleopatra  in  the  garden  of  Epicurus, 
who  was  a  delight  to  the  good  and  wise,  you  be- 
came the  *new  Isis,'  to  whom  the  multitude  raised 
hearts,  eyes,  and  hands,  dazzled  and  blinded.  We 
will  transfer  the  twins,  Helios  and  Selene,  the  sun 
and  the  moon,  from  heaven  to  earth  ;  they  must 
become  mortals — Greeks.  I  will  not  transplant 
them  to  the  garden  of  Epicurus,  but  to  another, 
where  the  air  is  more  bracing.  The  inscription  on 
its  portals  shall  not  be,  ^  Here  pleasure  is  the  chief 
good,'  but  *  This  is  an  arena  for  character.'  He 
who  leaves  this  garden  shall  not  owe  to  it  the 
yearning  for  happiness  and  comfort,  but  an  immov- 
ably steadfast  moral  discipline.    Your  children,  like 


CLEOPATRA. 


155 


yourself,  were  born  in  the  East,  which  loves  what  is 
monstrous,  superhuman,  exaggerated.  If  you  en- 
trust them  to  me,  they  must  learn  to  govern  them- 
selves. At  the  helm  stands  moral  earnestness, 
which,  however,  does  not  exclude  the  joyous  cheer- 
fulness natural  to  our  people ;  the  sails  will  be 
trimmed  by  moderation,  the  noblest  quality  of  the 
Greek  nation." 

"  I  understand,"  Cleopatra  interrupted,  with 
drooping  head.  "Interwoven  with  the  means  of 
securing  the  children's  welfare,  you  set  before  the 
mother's  eyes  the  qualities  she  has  lacked.  I 
know  that  long  ago  you  abandoned  the  teachings 
of  Epicurus  and  the  Stoa,  and  with  an  earnest  aim 
before  your  eyes  sought  your  own  paths.  The 
tempest  of  life  swept  me  far  away  from  the  quiet 
garden  where  we  sought  the  purest  delight.  Now 
I  have  learned  to  know  the  perils  which  threaten 
those  who  see  the  chief  good  in  happiness.  It 
stands  too  high  for  mortals,  for  in  the  changeful 
stir  of  life  it  remains  unattainable,  and  yet  it  is 
too  low  an  aim  for  their  struggles,  for  there  are 
worthier  objects.  Yet  one  saying  of  Epicurus 
we  both  believed,  and  it  has  always  stood  us  in 
good  stead  :  *  Wisdom  can  obtain  no  more  precious 
contribution  to  the  happiness  of  mortal  life  than 
the  possession  of  friendship.'  " 

She  held  out  her  hand  as  she  spoke,  and  while, 
deeply  agitated,  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  she  went 
on:  "You  know  I  am  on  the  eve  of  the  last  des- 


156  CLEOPATRA. 

perate  battle — if  the  gods  will — shoulder  to  shoul- 
der with  Antony.  Therefore  I  shall  not  be  per- 
mitted to  watch  your  work  of  education  ;  yet  I 
will  aid  it.  When  the  children  question  you  about 
their  mother,  you  will  be  obliged  to  restrain  your- 
self from  saying:  *  Instead  of  striving  for  the 
painless  peace  of  mind,  the  noble  pleasure  of 
Epicurus,  which  once  seemed  to  her  the  highest 
good,  she  constantly  pursued  fleeting  amusements. 
The  Oriental  recklessly  squandered  her  once  noble 
gifts  of  intellect  and  the  wealth  of  her  people, 
yielded  to  the  hasty  impulses  of  her  passionate 
nature.'  But  you  shall  also  say  to  them:  ^Your 
mother's  heart  was  full  of  ardent  love,  she  scorned 
what  was  base,  strove  for  the  highest  goal,  and  when 
she  fell,  preferred  death  to  treachery  and  disgrace.'  " 
Here  she  paused,  for  she  thought  she  heard 
footsteps  approaching,  and  then  exclaimed  anx- 
iously :  "  I  am  waiting — expecting.  Perhaps  An- 
tony cannot  escape  from  the  paralyzing  grasp  of 
despair.  To  fight  the  last  battle  without  him,  and 
yet  under  the  gaze  of  his  wrathful,  gloomy  eyes, 
once  so  full  of  sunshine,  would  be  the  greatest 
sorrow  of  my  life.  Archibius,  I  may  confess  this 
to  you,  the  friend  who  saw  love  for  this  man  de- 
velop in  the  breast  of   the  child But  what 

does  this  mean  ?  An  uproar  !  Have  the  people 
rebelled  ?  Yesterday  the  representatives  of  the 
priesthood,  the  members  of  the  museum,  and  the 
leaders  of  the  army  assured  me  of  their  change- 


CLEOPATRA.  1 57 

less  fidelity  and  love.  Dion  belonged  to  the  Mace- 
donian men  of  the  Council ;  yet  I  have  already 
declared,  in  accordance  with  the  truth,  that  I  never 
intended  to  persecute  him  on  Csesarion's  account. 
I  do  not  even  know — and  do  not  desire  to  know — 
the  refuge  of  the  lately  wedded  pair.  Or  has  the 
new  tax  levied,  the  command  to  seize  the  treasures 
of  the  temple,  driven  them  to  extremities  ?  What 
am  I  to  do  ?  We  need  gold  to  bid  the  foe  defi- 
ance, to  preserve  the  independence  of  the  throne, 
the  country,  and  the  people.    Or  have  tidings  from 

Rome ?    It  is  becoming  serious — and  the  noise 

is  growing  louder." 

"  Let  me  see  what  they  want,"  Archibius 
anxiously  interrupted,  hastening  to  the  door;  but 
just  at  that  moment  the  Introducer  opened  it,  cry- 
ing, "  Mark  Antony  is  approaching  the  Lochias, 
attended  by  half  Alexandria  !  " 

"  The  noble  Imperator  is  returning  !  "  fell  from 
the  bearded  lips  of  the  commander  of  the  guard, 
ere  the  courtier's  words  had  died  away ;  and  even 
while  he  spoke  Iras  pressed  past  him,  shrieking  as 
if  half  frantic :  "  He  is  coming !  He  is  here !  I 
knew  he  would  come !  How  they  are  shouting  and 
cheering !  Out  with  you,  men !  If  you  are  will- 
ing, my  royal  mistress,  we  will  greet  him  from  the 
balcony  of  Berenike.     If  we  only  had " 

"  The    twins — little   Alexander  !  "     interrupted 
Cleopatra,  with  blanched  face  and  faltering  voice. 
"  Put  on  their  festal  garments.'* 
31 


158 


CLEOPATRA. 


"  Quick — the  children,  Zoe !  "  cried  Iras,  com- 
pleting the  order  and  clapping  her  hands.  Then 
she  turned  to  the  Queen  with  the 'entreaty :  "Be 
calm,  my  royal  mistress,  be  calm,  I  beseech  you. 
We  have  ample  time.  Here  is  the  vulture  crown 
of  Isis,  and  here  the  other.  Antony's  slave,  Eros, 
has  just  come  in,  panting  for  breath.  The  Im- 
perator,  he  says,  will  appear  as  the  new  Dionysus. 
It  would  certainly  please  his  master — though  he 
had  not  commissioned  him  to  request  it — if  you 
greeted  him  as  the  new  Isis. — Help  me,  Hathor. 
Nephoris,  tell  the  usher  to  see  that  the  fan-bearers 
and  the  other  attendants,  women  and  men,  are  in 
their  places. — Here  are  the  pearl  and  diamond 
necklaces  for  your  throat  and  bosom.  Take  care 
of  the  robe.    The  transparent  bombyx  is  as  delicate 

as  a   cobweb,  and  if   you    tear  it No,    you 

must  not  refuse.  We  all  know  how  it  pleases  him 
to  see  his  goddess  in  divine  majesty  and  beauty.'* 

Cleopatra,  with  glowing  cheeks  and  throbbing 
heart,  made  no  further  objection  to  donning  the 
superb  festal  robe,  strewn  with  glimmering  pearls 
and  glittering  gems.  It  would  have  been  more  in 
harmony  with  her  feelings  to  meet  the  returning 
Antony  in  the  plain,  dark  garb  which,  since  her 
arrival  at  home,  she  had  exchanged  for  a  richer 
one  only  on  festal  occasions;  but  Antony  was 
coming  as  the  new  Dionysus,  and  Eros  knew  what 
would  please  his  master. 

Eight  nimble  hands,  which  were  often  aided  by 


CLEOPATRA. 


159 


Iras's  skilful  fingers,  toiled  busily,  and  soon  the 
latter  could  hold  up  the  mirror  before  Cleopatra, 
exclaiming  from  the  very  depths  of  her  heart, 
"  Like  the  foam-born  Aphrodite  and  the  golden 
Hathor  !  " 

Then  Iras,  who,  in  adorning  her  beloved  mis- 
tress, had  forgotten  love,  hate,  and  envy,  and  amid 
her  eager  haste  barely  found  time  for  a  brief,  fer- 
vent prayer  for  a  happy  issue  of  this  meeting, 
threw  the  broad  folding-doors  as  wide  as  if  she 
were  about  to  reveal  to  the  worshippers  in  the 
temple  the  image  of  the  god  in  the  innermost  sanc- 
tuary. 

A  long,  echoing  shout  of  surprise  and  delight 
greeted  the  Queen,  for  the  courtiers,  hastily  sum- 
moned, were  already  awaiting  her  without,  from 
the  grey-haired  epistolograph  to  the  youngest 
page.  Regally  attired  women  in  her  service  raised 
the  floating  train  of  her  cloak ;  others,  in  sacer- 
dotal robes,  were  testing  the  ease  of  movement  of 
the  rings  on  the  sistrum  rods,  men  and  boys  were 
forming  into  lines  according  to  the  rank  of  each 
individual,  and  the  chief  fan-bearer  gave  the  sig- 
nal for  departure.  After  a  short  walk  through 
several  halls  and  corridors,  the  train  reached  the 
first  court-yard  of  the  palace,  and  there  ascended 
the  few  steps  leading  to  the  broad  platform  at  the 
entrance-gate  which  overlooked  the  whole  Bruchi- 
um  and  the  Street  of  the  King,  down  which  the 
expected  hero  would  approach. 


l6o  CLEOPATRA. 

The  distant  uproar  of  the  multitude  had 
sounded  threatening,  but  now,  amid  the  deafening 
din,  they  could  distinguish  every -shout  of  wel- 
come, every  joyous  greeting,  every  expression  of 
delight,  surprise,  applause,  admiration,  and  homage, 
known  to  the  Greek  and  Egyptian  tongues. 

Only  the  centre  and  end  of  the  procession  were 
visible.  The  head  had  reached  the  Corner  of  the 
Muses,  where,  concealed  by  the  old  trees  in  the 
garden,  it  moved  on  between  the  Temple  of  Isis 
and  the  land  owned  by  Didymus.  The  end  still 
extended  to  the  Choma,  w^hence  it  had  started. 

All  Alexandria  seemed  to  have  joined  it. 

Men  large  and  small,  of  high  and  low  degree, 
old  and  young,  the  lame  and  the  crippled,  min- 
gled with  the  throng,  sweeping  onward  among 
horses  and  carriages,  carts  and  beasts  of  burden, 
like  a  mountain  torrent  dashing  wildly  down  to 
the  valley.  Here  a  loud  shriek  rang  from  an 
overturned  Htter,  whose  bearers  had  fallen.  Yon- 
der a  child  thrown  to  the  ground  screamed  shrilly, 
there  a  dog  trodden  under  the  feet  of  the  crowd 
howled  piteously.  So  clear  and  resonant  were  the 
shouts  of  joy  that  they  rose  high  above  the  flutes 
and  tambourines,  the  cymbals  and  lutes  of  the 
musicians,  who  followed  the  man  approaching  in 
the  robes  of  a  god. 

The  head  of  the  procession  now  passed  be- 
yond the  Corner  of  the  Muses  and  came  within 
view  of  the  platform. 


CLEOPATRA.  l6l 

There  could  be  no  doubt  to  whom  this  ovation 
was  given,  for  the  returning  hero  was  in  the  van, 
high  above  all  the  other  figures.  From  the  golden 
throne  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  twelve  black 
slaves  he  waved  his  long  thyrsus  in  greeting  to 
the  exulting  multitude.  Before  the  bacchanalian 
train  which  accompanied  him,  and  behind  the  mu- 
sicians who  followed,  moved  two  elephants  bear- 
ing between  them,  as  a  light  burden,  some  unrec- 
ognizable object  covered  with  a  purple  cloth. 
Now  the  column  had  passed  between  the  pylons 
through  the  lofty  gateway  which  separated  the 
palace  from  the  Street  of  the  King,  and  stopped 
opposite  to  the  platform. 

While  officials,  Scythians,  and  body-guards  of 
all  shades  of  complexion,  on  foot  and  on  horse- 
back, kept  back  the  throng  by  force  where  friendly 
warning  did  not  avail,  Cleopatra  saw  her  lover 
descend  from  the  throne  and  give  a  signal  to  the 
Indian  slave  who  guided  the  elephants.  The  cloth 
was  flung  aside,  revealing  to  the  astonished  eyes 
of  the  spectators  a  bouquet  of  flowers  such  as  no 
Alexandrian  had  ever  beheld.  It  consisted  en- 
tirely of  blossoming  rose-bushes.  The  red  flow- 
ers formed  a  circle  in  the  centre,  surrounded  by  a 
broad  light  garland  of  white  ones.  The  whole 
gigantic  work  rested  like  an  egg  in  its  cup  in  a 
holder  of  palm  fronds  which,  as  it  were,  framed 
it  in  graceful  curving  outlines.  More  than  a  thou- 
sand blossoms  were  united  in  this  peerless  bouquet, 


1 62  CLEOPATRA. 

and  the  singular  gigantic  gift  was  characteristic 
of  its  giver. 

He  advanced  on  foot  to  the  platform,  his  figure 
towering  above  the  brown,  light-hued,  and  black 
freedmen  and  slaves  who  followed  as,  on  the 
monuments  of  the  Pharaohs,  the  image  of  the 
sovereign  dominates  those  of  the  subjects  and 
foes. 

He  could  look  down  upon  the  tallest  men,  and 
the  width  of  his  shoulders  was  as  remarkable  as 
his  colossal  height.  A  long,  gold-broidered  pur- 
ple mantle,  floating  to  his  ancles,  increased  his  ap- 
parent stature.  Powerful  arms,  with  the  swelling 
muscles  of  an  athlete,  were  extended  from  his 
sleeveless  robe  towards  the  beloved  Queen. 

The  well-formed  head,  thick  dark  hair,  and 
magnificent  beard  corresponded  with  the  powerful 
figure.  Formerly  these  locks  had  adorned  the 
head  of  the  youth  with  the  blue-black  hue  of  the 
raven's  plumage ;  now  the  threads  of  grey  scattered 
abundantly  through  them  were  concealed  by  the 
aid  of  dye.  A  thick  wreath  of  vine  leaves  rested 
on  the  Imperator's  brow,  and  leafy  vine  branches, 
to  which  clung  several  dark  bunches  of  grapes,  fell 
over  his  broad  shoulders  and  down  his  back,  which 
was  covered  like  a  cloak,  not  by  a  leopard-skin, 
but  that  of  a  royal  Indian  tiger  of  great  size — he 
had  slain  ij:  himself  in  the  arena.  The  head  and 
paws  of  the  animal  were  gold,  the  eyes  two  mag- 
nificent   sparkling   sapphires.      The   clasp  of   the 


CLEOPATRA. 


chain,  by  which  the  skin  was  suspended,  as  wejl^»s.^> 
that  of  the  gold  belt  which  circled  the  Imperator*s 
body  above  the  hips,  was  covered  with  rubies  and 
emeralds.  The  wide  armlets  above  his  elbows, 
the  ornaments  on  his  broad  breast,  nay,  even  his 
red  morocco  boots,  glittered  and  flashed  with 
gems. 

Radiant  as  his  former  fortunes  seemed  the 
magnificent  attire  of  this  mighty  fallen  hero,  who 
but  yesterday  had  shrunk  timidly  and  sadly  from 
the  eyes  of  his  fellows-men.  His  features,  too,  were 
large,  noble,  and  beautiful  in  outline;  but,  though 
his  pale  cheeks  were  adorned  with  the  borrowed 
crimson  of  youth,  half  a  century  of  the  maddest 
pursuit  of  pleasure  and  the  torturing  excitement  of 
the  last  few  weeks  had  left  traces  only  too  visible; 
for  the  skin  hung  in  loose  bags  beneath  the  large 
eyes;  wrinkles  furrowed  his  brow  and  radiated  in 
slanting  lines  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes  across 
his  temples. 

Yet  not  one  of  those  whom  this  bedizened  man 
of  fifty  was  approaching  thought  of  seeing  in  him 
an  aged,  bedecked  dandy ;  it  was  an  instinct  of  his 
nature  to  surround  himself  with  pomp  and  splen- 
dour and,  moreover,  his  whole  appearance  was  so 
instinct  with  power  that  scorn  and  mockery  shrank 
abashed  before  it. 

How  frank,  gracious,  and  kindly  was  this  man's 
face,  how  sincere  the  heart-felt  emotion  which 
sparkled  in  his  eyes,  still  glowing  with  the  fire  of 


164  CLEOPATRA. 

youth,  at  the  sight  of  the  woman  from  whom  he 
had  been  so  long  parted  !  Every  f-eature  beamed 
with  the  most  ardent  tenderness  for  the  royal 
wife  whom  he  was  approaching,  and  the  expres- 
sion on  the  lips  of  the  giant  varied  so  swiftly  from 
humble,  sorrowful  anguish  of  mind  to  gratitude 
and  delight,  that  even  the  hearts  of  his  foes  were 
touched.  But  when,  pressing  his  hand  on  his 
broad  breast,  he  advanced  towards  the  Queen,  bend- 
ing so  low  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  fain  kiss 
her  feet,  when  in  fact  the  colossal  figure  did  sink 
kneeling  before  her,  and  the  powerful  arms  were 
outstretched  with  fervent  devotion  like  a  child 
beseeching  help,  the  woman  who  had  loved  him 
throughout  her  whole  life  with  all  the  ardour  of  her 
passionate  soul  was  overpowered  by  the  feeling 
that  everything  which  stood  between  them,  all  their 
mutual  offences,  had  vanished.  He  saw  the  sunny 
smile  that  brightened  her  beloved,  ever-beautiful 
face,  and  then — then  his  own  name  reached  his  ears 
from  the  lips  to  which  he  owed  the  greatest  bliss 
love  had  ever  offered.  At  last,  as  if  intoxicated  by 
the  tones  of  her  voice,  which  seemed  to  him  more 
musical  than  the  songs  of  the  Muses  ;  half  smil- 
ing at  the  jest  which,  even  in  the  most  serious 
earnest,  he  could  not  abandon  ;  half  moved  to  the 
depths  of  his  soul  by  the  power  of  his  newly 
awakening  happiness  after  such  sore  sorrow,  he 
pointed  to  the  gigantic  bouquet,  which  three  slaves 
had  lifted  down  from  the  elephant  and  were  bear- 


CLEOPATRA.  1 65 

ing  to  the  Queen.  Cleopatra,  too,  was  over- 
whelmed with  emotion. 

This  floral  gift  imitated,  on  an  immense  scale, 
the  little  bouquet  which  the  famous  young  general 
had  taken  from  her  father's  hand  before  the  gate 
of  the  garden  of  Epicurus  to  present  to  her  as  his 
first  gift.  That  had  also  been  composed  of  red 
roses,  surrounded  by  white  ones.  Instead  of  palm 
fronds,  it  had  been  encircled  only  by  fern  leaves. 
This  was  one  of  the  beautiful  offerings  which  An- 
tony's gracious  nature  so  well  understood  how  to 
choose.  The  bouquet  was  a  symbol  of  the  un- 
precedented generosity  natural  to  this  large-minded 
man.  No  magic  goblet  had  compelled  him  to  ap- 
proach her  thus  and  with  such  homage.  Nothing 
had  constrained  him,  save  his  overflowing  heart, 
his  constant,  fadeless  love. 

As  if  restored  to  youth,  transported  by  some 
magic  spell  to  the  happy  days  of  early  girlhood, 
she  forgot  her  royal  dignity  and  the  hundreds  of 
eyes  which  rested  upon  him  as  if  spell-bound ;  and, 
obedient  to  an  irresistible  impulse  of  the  heart, 
she  sank  upon  the  broad,  heaving  breast  of  the 
kneeling  hero.  Laughing  joyously  in  the  clear, 
silvery  tones  which  are  usually  heard  only  in 
youth,  he  clasped  her  in  his  strong  arms,  raised  her 
slender  figure  in  its  floating  royal  mantle  from  the 
ground,  kissed  her  lips  and  eyes,  held  her  aloft  in 
the  soaring  attitude  of  the  Goddess  of  Victory,  as 
if  to  display  his  happiness   to  the  eyes  of  all,  and 


1 66  CLEOPATRA. 

at  last  placed  her  carefully  on  her  feet  again  like 
some  treasured  jewel. 

Then,  turning  to  the  children,  who  were  wait- 
ing at  their  mother's  side,  he  lifted  first  little 
Alexander,  then  the  twins,  to  kiss  them  ;  and,  while 
holding  Helios  and  Selene  in  his  arms,  as  if  the 
joy  of  seeing  them  again  had  banished  their 
weight,  the  shouts  which  had  arisen  when  the 
Queen  sank  on  his  breast  again  burst  forth. 

The  ancient  walls  of  the  Lochias  palace  had 
never  heard  such  acclamations.  They  passed  from 
lip  to  lip,  from  hundreds  to  hundreds  and,  though 
those  more  distant  did  not  know  the  cause,  they 
joined  in  the  shouts.  Along  the  whole  vast  stretch 
from  the  Lochias  to  the  Choma  the  cheers  rang 
out  like  a  single,  heart-stirring,  inseparable  cry, 
echoing  across  the  harbour,  the  ships  lying  at 
anchor,  the  towering  masts,  to  the  cliff  amid  the 
sea  where  Barine  was  nursing  her  new-made  hus- 
band. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  property  of  the  freedman  Pyrrhus  was  a 
flat  rock  in  the  northern  part  of  the  harbour, 
scarcely  larger  than  the  garden  of  Didymus  at  the 
Corner  of  the  Muses,  a  desolate  spot  where  neither 
tree  nor  blade  of  grass  grew.  It  was  called  the 
Serpent  Island,  though  the  inhabitants  had  long 
since  rid  it  of  these  dangerous  guests,  which  lived 
in  great  numbers  in  the  neighbouring  cliffs.  Not 
even  the  poorest  crops  would  grow  in  soil  so  hos- 
tile to  life,  and  those  who  chose  it  for  a  home  were 
compelled  to  bring  even  the  drinking-water  from 
the  continent. 

This  desert,  around  which  hovered  gulls,  sea- 
swallows,  and  sea-eagles,  had  been  for  several 
weeks  the  abode  of  the  fugitives,  Dion  and  Barine. 
They  still  occupied  the  two  rooms  which  had  been 
assigned  to  them  on  their  arrival.  During  the  day 
the  sun  beat  fiercely  down  upon  the  yellow  chalky 
rock.  There  was  no  shade  save  in  the  house  and 
at  the  foot  of  a  towering  cliff  in  the  southern  part 
of  the  island,  the  fishermen's  watch-tower. 

There  were  no  works  of  human   hands  save  a 


l68  CLEOPATRA. 

little  Temple  of  Poseidon,  an  altar  of  Isis,  the  large 
house  owned  by  Pyrrhus,  solidly  .constructed  by 
Alexandrian  masons,  and  a  smaller  one  for  the 
freedman's  married  sons  and  their  families.  A 
long  wooden  frame,  on  which  nets  were  strung  to 
dry,  rose  on  the  shore.  Near  it,  towards  the  north, 
in  the  open  sea,  was  the  anchorage  of  the  larger 
sea-going  ships  and  the  various  skiffs  and  boats 
of  the  fisher  folk.  Dionikos,  Pyrrhus's  youngest 
son,  who  was  still  unmarried,  built  new  boats  and 
repaired  the  old  ones. 

His  two  strong,  taciturn  brothers,  with  their 
wuves  and  children,  his  father  Pyrrhus,  his  wife 
and  their  youngest  child,  a  daughter,  Dione,  a  few 
dogs,  cats,  and  chickens,  composed  the  population 
of  the  Serpent  Island. 

Such  were  the  surroundings  of  the  newly 
wedded  pair,  who  had  been  reared  in  the  capital. 
At  first  many  things  were  strange  to  them,  but  they 
accommodated  themselves  to  circumstances  with  a 
good  grace,  and  both  had  admitted  to  each  other, 
long  before,  that  life  had  never  been  so  equable 
and  peaceful. 

During  the  first  week  Dion's  wound  and  fever 
still  harassed  him,  but  the  prediction  of  Pyrrhus 
that  the  pure,  fresh  sea-air  would  benefit  the  suf- 
ferer had  been  fulfilled,  and  the  monotonous  days 
had  passed  swiftly  enough  to  the  young  bride  in 
caring  for  the  invalid. 

The  wife  of  Pyrrhus — '^mother,"  as  they  all 


CLEOPATRA.  1 69 

called  her — had  proved  to  be  a  skilful  nurse,  and  her 
daughters-in-law  and  young  Dione  were  faithful 
and  nimble  assistants.  During  the  time  of  anxiety 
and  nursing,  Barine  had  formed  a  warm  friendship 
for  them.  If  the  taciturn  men  avoided  using  a 
single  unnecessary  word,  the  women  were  all  the 
more  ready  to  gossip  ;  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  talk 
to  pretty  Dione,  who  had  grown  up  on  the  island 
and  was  eager  to  hear  about  the  outside  world. 

Dion  had  long  since  left  his  couch  and  the 
house,  and  each  day  looked  happier,  more  content 
with  himself  and  his  surroundings.  At  first  his 
feverish  visions  had  shown  him  his  dead  mother, 
pointing  anxiously  at  his  new-made  wife,  as  if  to 
warn  him  against  her.  During  his  convalescence 
he  remembered  them  and  they  conjured  up  the 
doubt  whether  Barine  could  endure  the  solitude  of 
this  desolate  cliff,  whether  she  would  not  lose  the 
bright  serenity  of  soul  whose  charm  constantly  in- 
creased. Would  it  be  any  marvel  if  she  should 
pine  with  longing  in  this  solitude,  and  even  suffer 
physically  from  their  severe  privations  ? 

The  perception  that  love  now  supplied  the  place 
of  all  which  she  had  lost  pleased  him,  but  he  for- 
bade himself  to  expect  that  this  condition  of  affairs 
could  be  lasting.  Nothing  save  exaggerated  self- 
conceit  would  induce  the  hope.  But  he  must  have 
undervalued  his  own  power  of  attraction — or  Ba- 
rine's  love — for  with  each  passing  week  the  cheer- 
ful serenity  of  her  disposition  gained  fresh  stead- 


170 


CLEOPATRA. 


fastness  and  charm.  He,  too,  had  the  same  ex- 
perience ;  it  was  long  since  he  had  felt  so  vigorous, 
untrammelled,  and  free  from  care.  His  sole  re- 
gret was  the  impossibility  of  sharing  the  political 
life  of  the  city  at  this  critical  period;  and  at  times 
he  felt  some  little  anxiety  concerning  the  fate  and 
management  of  his  property,  though,  even  if  his 
estates  were  confiscated,  he  would  still  retain  a 
competence  which  he  had  left  in  the  hands  of  a 
trustworthy  money-changer.  Barine  shared  every- 
thing that  concerned  him,  even  these  moods,  and 
this  led  him  to  tell  her  about  the  affairs  of  the  city 
and  the  state,  in  which  she  had  formerly  taken 
little  interest,  his  property  in  Alexandria  and  the 
provinces.  With  what  glad  appreciation  she  lis- 
tened, when  she  went  out  with  him  from  the  north- 
ern anchorage  on  the  open  sea,  or  sat  during  long 
winter  evenings  making  nets,  an  art  which  she  had 
learned  from  Dione ! 

Her  lute  had  been  sent  to  her  from  the  city, 
and  what  pleasure  her  singing  afforded  her  husband 
and  herself;  how  joyously  their  hosts,  old  and 
young,  listened  to  the  melody  ! 

A  few  book-rolls  had  also  come,  and  Dion  en- 
joyed discussing  their  contents  with  Barine.  He 
himself  read  very  little,  for  he  was  rarely  indoors 
during  the  day.  The  fourth  week  after  his  ar- 
rival he  was  able  to  aid,  with  arms  whose  muscles 
had  been  steeled  in  the  palaestra,  the  men  in  their 
fishing,  and  Dionikos  in  his  boat-building. 


CLEOPATRA. 


171 


The  close,  constant,  uninterrupted  companion- 
ship of  the  married  pair  revealed  to  each  unex- 
pected treasures  in  the  other,  which,  perhaps, 
might  have  remained  forever  concealed  in  city  life. 
Here  each  was  everything  to  the  other,  and  this 
undisturbed  mutual  life  soon  inspired  that  blissful 
consciousness  of  inseparable  union  which  usually 
appears  only  after  years,  as  the  fairest  fruit  of  a 
marriage  founded  on  love. 

Doubtless  there  were  hours  when  Barine  longed 
to  see  her  mother  and  others  who  were  dear  to  her, 
but  the  letters  which  arrived  from  time  to  time 
prevented  this  yearning  from  becoming  a  source  of 
actual  pain. 

Prudence  required  them  to  restrict  their  inter- 
course with  the  city.  But,  whenever  Pyrrhus  went 
to  market,  letters  reached  the  island  delivered  at 
the  fish  auction  in  the  harbour  byAnukis,  Charmi- 
an's  Nubian  maid,  to  the  old  freedman,  who  had 
become  her  close  friend. 

So  the  time  came  when  Dion  could  say  without 
self-deception  that  Barine  was  content  in  this  soli- 
tude, and  that  his  love  and  companionship  supplied 
the  place  of  the  exciting,  changeful  life  of  the 
capital.  Though  letters  came  from  her  mother, 
sister,  or  Charmian,  her  grandfather,  Gorgias,  or 
Archibius,  not  one  transformed  the  wish  to  leave 
her  desolate  hiding-place  into  actual  home- 
sickness, but  each  brought  fresh  subjects  for 
conversation,   and   among  them   many  which,   by 


1/2 


CLEOPATRA. 


arousing  the  interest  of  both,  united  them  more 
firmly. 

The  second  month  of  their  flight- a  letter  arrived 
from  Archibius,  in  which  he  informed  them  that 
they  might  soon  form  plans  for  their  return,  for 
Alexas,  the  Syrian,  had  proved  a  malicious  traitor. 
He  had  not  performed  the  commission  entrusted 
to  him  of  winning  Herod  to  Antony's  cause,  but 
treacherously  deserted  his  patron  and  remained 
with  the  King  of  the  Jews.  When,  with  unprece- 
dented shamelessness,  he  sought  Octavianus  to  sell 
the  secrets  of  his  Egyptian  benefactor,  he  was  ar- 
rested and  executed  in  his  own  home,  Laodicea. 

Now,  their  friend  continued,  Cleopatra's  eyes 
as  well  as  her  husband's  were  opened  to  the  true 
character  of  Barine's  most  virulent  accuser.  The 
influence  of  Philostratus,  too,  was  of  course  de- 
stroyed by  his  brother's  infamous  deed.  Yet  they 
must  wait  a  little  longer  ;  for  Caesarion  had  joined 
the  Ephebi,  and  Antyllus  had  been  invested  with 
the  toga  virilis.  They  could  now  undertake  many 
things  independently,  and  Caesarion  often  made  re- 
marks which  showed  that  he  would  not  cease  to 
lay  plots  for  Barine. 

Dion  feared  nothing  from  the  royal  boy  on  his 
own  account,  but  for  his  wife's  sake  he  dared  not 
disregard  his  friend's  warning.  This  was  hard ; 
for  though  he  still  felt  happy  on  the  island,  he 
longed  to  install  the  woman  he  loved  in  his  own 
house,  and  every  impulse  of  his  nature  urged  him 


CLEOPATRA.  1 73 

to  be  present  at  the  meetings  of  the  Council  in  these 
fateful  times.  Therefore  he  was  more  than  ready 
to  risk  returning  to  the  city,  but  Barine  entreated 
him  so  earnestly  not  to  exchange  the  secure  hap- 
piness they  enjoyed  here  for  a  greater  one,  behind 
which  might  lurk  the  heaviest  misfortune,  that  he 
yielded.  Another  letter  from  Charmian  soon  proved 
the  absolute  necessity  of  continuing  to  exercise 
caution. 

Even  from  the  island  they  could  perceive  that 
everything  known  as  festal  pleasure  was  rife  in 
Alexandria,  and  bore  along  in  its  mad  revelry  the 
court  and  the  citizens.  When  the  wind  blew  from 
the  south,  it  brought  single  notes  of  inspiring  music 
or  indistinct  sounds  of  the  wildest  popular  rejoic- 
ing. 

The  fisherman's  daughter,  Dione,  often  called 
them  to  the  strand  to  admire  the  galleys  adorned 
with  fabulous  splendour,  garlanded  with  flowers, 
and  echoing  with  the  music  of  lutes  and  the  melody 
of  songs.  Sails  of  purple  embroidered  silk  bore 
the  vessels  over  the  smooth  tide.  Once  the  watch- 
ers even  distmguished,  upon  a  barge  richly  adorned 
with  gilded  carving,  young  female  slaves  who,  with 
floating  hair  and  transparent  sea-green  robes,  han- 
dled, in  the  guise  of  Nereids,  light  sandal- wood  oars 
with  golden  blades.  Often  the  breeze  bore  to  the 
island  the  perfumes  which  surrounded  the  galleys, 
and  on  calm  nights  the  magnificent  ships,  surround- 
ed by  the  magical  illumination  of  many-hued  lamps, 
32 


174 


CLEOPATRA. 


swept  across  the  mirror-like  surface  of  the  waves. 
Among  the  voyagers  were  gods,  goddesses,  and 
heroes  who,  standing  or  reclining  in  beautiful 
groups,  represented  scenes  from  the  myths  and 
history.  On  the  deck  of  the  Queen's  superb  vessel 
guests  crowned  with  wreaths  lay  on  purple  couches, 
under  garlands  of  flowers,  eating  choice  viands  and 
draining  golden  wine-cups. 

On  other  nights  the  illumination  of  the  shore 
of  the  Bruchium  rendered  it  as  bright  as  day. 
The  huge  dome  of  the  Serapeum  on  the  Rhakotis, 
covered  with  lamps,  towered  above  the  flat  roofs 
of  the  city  like  the  starry  firmament  of  a  smaller 
world  which  had  descended  to  earth.  Every  tem- 
ple and  palace  was  transformed  into  a  giant  can- 
delabrum, and  the  rows  of  lamps  on  the  quay 
stretched  like  tendrils  of  light  from  the  dazzlingly 
illuminated  marble  Temple  of  Poseidon  to  the 
palace  at  Lochias,  steeped  in  radiance. 

When  Pyrrhus  or  one  of  his  sons  returned  from 
market  they  described  the  festivals  and  shows, 
banquets,  races,  and  endless  pleasure  excursions 
arranged  by  the  court,  which  made  the  citizens 
fairly  hold  their  breath.  It  was  a  prosperous  time 
for  the  fishermen ;  the  Queen's  cooks  took  all  their 
wares  and  paid  a  liberal  price. 

January  had  come,  when  another  letter  arrived 
from  Charmian.  Dion  and  Barine  had  watched  in 
vain  for  any  unusual  events  on  Cleopatra's  birth- 
day, but  on  Antony's,  a  few  days  later,  there  was 


CLEOPATRA.  1 75 

plenty  of  music  and  shouting,  and  in  the  evening 
an  unusually  magnificent  illumination. 

Two  days  after,  this  letter  was  delivered  to 
Pyrrhus  by  his  dusky  friend  Anukis. 

Her  inquiry  whether  he  thought  it  prudent  to 
convey  visitors  to  his  guests  was  answered  in  the 
negative,  for  since  Octavianus  had  been  in  Asia, 
the  harbour  swarmed  with  the  boats  of  spies,  and 
a  single  act  of  imprudence  might  bring  ruin. 

Charmian's  letter,  too,  was  even  better  calcu- 
lated to  curb  Dion's  increasing  desire  to  return 
home  than  the  fisherman's  warning. 

True,  the  beginning  contained  good  news  of 
Barine's  relatives,  and  then  informed  Dion  that 
his  uncle,  the  Keeper  of  the  Seal,  was  fairly  revel- 
ling in  bliss.  His  inventive  gifts  were  taxed  more 
than  ever.  Every  day  brought  a  festival,  every 
night  magnificent  banquets.  One  spectacle,  ex- 
cursion, or  hunting  party  followed  another.  In 
the  theatres,  the  Odeum,  the  Hippodrome,  no  more 
brilliant  performances,  races,  naval  battles,  gladi- 
atorial struggles,  and  combats  between  beasts  had 
been  given,  even  before  Actium.  Dion  himself 
had  formerly  attended  the  entertainments  of  those 
who  belonged  to  the  court  circle,  the  society  of 
"  Inimitable  Livers."  It  had  been  revived  again, 
but  Antony  called  them  the  "  Comrades  of  Death." 

This  was  significant.  Every  one  knows  that 
the  end  is  drawing  near,  and  imitates  the  Pharaoh 
to  whom  the  oracle  promised  six  years  of  life,  and 


176  CLEOPATRA. 

who  convicted  it  of  falsehood  and  made  them 
twelve  by  carousing  during  the  night  also. 

The  Queen's  meeting  with  her  husband,  which 
she  had  previously  reported,  had  been  magnificent. 
"At  that  time,"  she  wrote,  "we  hoped  that  a  more 
noble  life  would  begin,  and  Mark  Antony,  awak- 
ened and  elevated  by  his  rekindled  love,  would  re- 
gain his  former  heroic  power ;  but  we  were  mis- 
taken ;  Cleopatra,  it  is  true,  toiled  unceasingly,  but 
her  lover  with  his  enormous  bunch  of  roses  gave 
the  signal  for  the  maddest  revelry  which  the 
imagination  of  the  wildest  devotee  of  pleasure 
could  conceive.  The  performances  of  the  Inimi- 
table Livers  were  far  surpassed  by  those  of  the 
"  Comrades  of  Death." 

"  Antony  is  at  their  head,  and  he,  whose  giant 
frame  resists  even  the  most  unprecedented  de- 
mands, succeeds  in  stupefying  himself  and  for- 
getting the  impending  ruin.  When  he  comes  to  us 
after  a  night  of  revelry  his  eyes  sparkle  as  brightly, 
his  deep  voice  has  as  clear  a  ring,  as  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  banquet.  The  Queen  is  his  god- 
dess; and  who  could  remain  unmoved  when  the 
giant  bows  obediently  to  the  nod  of  his  delicate 
sovereign,  and  devises  and  offers  the  most  unpre- 
cedented things  to  win  a  smile  from  her  lips  ?  The 
changeful,  impetuous  wooing  of  youth  lies  far  be- 
hind him,  but  his  homage,  which  the  Ephebi  of  to- 
day would  perhaps  term  antiquated,  has  always 
seemed  to  me  as  if  a  mountain  were  bending  be- 


CLEOPATRA. 


177 


fore  a  star.  The  stranger  who  sees  her  in  his  com- 
pany believes  her  a  happy  woman.  Amid  the 
fabulous  radiar%e  of  the  festal  array,  when  all  who 
surround  her  admire,  worship,  and  strew  flowers  in 
her  path,  one  might  believe  that  the  old  sunny 
days  had  returned;  but  when  we  are  alone,  how 
rarely  I  see  her  smile!  Then  she  plans  for  the 
tomb  which,  under  Gorgias's  direction,  is  rapidly 
rising,  and  considers  with  him  the  best  method  of 
rendering  it  an  inaccessible  place  of  retreat. 

"  She  decided  everything,  down  to  the  carving 
on  the  stone  sarcophagi.  In  addition,  there  are  to 
be  rooms  and  chambers  in  the  lower  story  for  the 
reception  of  her  treasures.  Beneath  them  she  has 
had  corridors  made  for  the  pitch  and  straw  which, 
if  the  worst  should  come,  are  to  be  lighted.  She 
will  then  give  to  the  flames  the  gold  and  silver, 
gems  and  jewels,  ebony  and  ivory,  the  costly 
spices — in  short,  all  her  valuables.  The  pearls 
alone  are  worth  many  kingdoms.  Who  can  blame 
her  if  she  prefers  to  destroy  them  rather  than  leave 
them  for  the  foe  ** 

"  The  garden  in  which  you  grew  up,  Barine,  is 
now  the  scene  of  the  happy,  busy  life  led  by  Alex- 
ander and  the  twins.  There,  under  my  brother's 
guidance,  they  frolic,  build,  and  dig.  Cleopatra 
goes  to  it  whenever  she  longs  for  repose  after  the 
pursuit  of  pleasures  which  have  lost  their  zest. 

"  When,  the  day  before  yesterday,  Antony, 
crowned  with  ivy  as  the  new  Dionysus,  drove  up 


178  CLEOPATRA. 

the  Street  of  the  King  in  the  golden  chariot  drawn 
by  tamed  lions,  to  bring  her,  the  new  Isis,  from 
the  Lochias  in  a  lotus  flower  ma'#e  of  silver  and 
white  paste,  drawn  by  four  snow-white  steeds,  she 
pointed  to  the  glittering  train  and  said :  *  Be- 
tween the  quiet  of  the  philosopher's  garden,  where 
I  began  my  life  and  still  feel  most  at  ease,  and 
the  grave,  where  nothing  disturbs  my  last  re- 
pose, stretches  the  Street  of  the  King,  with  this 
deafening  tumult,  this  empty  splendour.  It  is 
mine.' 

"  O  child,  it  was  very  different  in  former  days ! 
She  loved  Mark  Antony  with  passionate  ardour. 
He  was  the  first  man  in  the  world,  and  yet  he 
bowed  before  the  supremacy  of  her  will.  The 
longing  of  the  awakening  heart,  the  burning  ambi- 
tion which  already  kindled  the  soul  of  the  child, 
had  alike  found  satisfaction,  and  the  world  beheld 
how  the  mortal  woman,  Cleopatra,  for  her  lover 
and  herself,  could  steep  this  meagre  life  with  the 
joys  of  the  immortals.  He  was  grateful  for  them, 
and  the  most  generous  of  men  laid  at  the  feet  of 
the  '  Great  Queen  of  the  East '  the  might  of  Rome 
and  the  kings  of  two  quarters  of  the  globe. 

"  These  years  were  spent  by  both  in  one  long 
revel.  His  marriage  with  Octavia  brought  the 
first  aw^akening.  It  was  hard  and  painful.  He 
had  not  deserted  Cleopatra  for  a  woman's  sake, 
but  on  account  of  his  endangered  power  and  sov- 
ereignty.    But   the   unloved    Octavia   constrained 


CLEOPATRA.  lyg 

him  to  look  up  to  her  with  respectful  admiration — 
nay,  she  became  dear  to  him. 

"  A  fierce  battle  for  him  and  his  heart  arose 
between  the  two.  It  was  fought  with  very  differ- 
ent weapons,  and  Cleopatra  conquered.  The  revel, 
the  dream  began  again.  Then  came  Actium,  the 
disenchantment,  the  awakening,  the  fall,  the  flight 
from  the  world.  Our  object  was  not  to  let  him  re- 
lapse into  intoxication,  to  rouse  the  hero's  strength 
and  courage  from  their  slumber,  render  him  for 
love's  sake  a  fellow-combatant  in  the  common 
cause. 

**  But  he  had  become  accustomed  to  ^ee  in  her 
the  giver  of  ecstasy.  The  only  thing  that  he  still 
desired  was  to  drain  the  cup  of  pleasure  in  her 
society  till  all  was  over.  She  sees  this,  grieves 
over  it,  and  leaves  no  means  of  rousing  him  to 
fresh  energy  untried ;  yet  how  rarely  he  rallies 
his  powers  to  earnest  labour ! 

"  While  she  is  fortifying  the  mouths  of  the 
Nile  and  the  frontiers  of  the  country,  building 
ship  after  ship,  arming  and  negotiating,  she  can 
not  resist  him  when  he  summons  her  to  new 
pleasures. 

"  Though  so  many  of  the  traits  which  rendered 
him  great  and  noble  have  vanished,  she  can  not 
give  up  the  old  love  and  clings  steadfastly  to  him 
because,  because — I  know  not  why.  A  woman's 
loving  heart  does  not  question  motives  and  laws. 
Besides,  he  is  the  father  of  her  children  and,  in 


l8o  CLEOPATRA. 

playing  with  them,  he  regains  the  old  joyousness 
of  mood  so  enthralling  to  the  heart. 

"  Since  Archibius  has  taken  charge  of  them, 
they  can  dispense  with  Euphronion,  their  tutor. 
TRe  clever  man  knows  Rome,  Octavianus,  and 
those  who  surround  him,  so  he  was  chosen  as  an 
envoy.  His  object  was  to  induce  the  conqueror 
to  transfer  the  sovereignty  of  Egypt  to  the  boys 
Antonius  Helios,  and  Alexander,  but  Caesar  vouch- 
safed no  answer  to  the  mediator  in  Antony's  affairs 
— nay,  did  not  even  grant  him  an  audience. 

"  To  Cleopatra  Octavianus  promised  friendly 
treatment,  and  the  fulfilment  of  her  wish  concern- 
ing the  boys  if — and  now  came  the  repetition  of 
the  old  demand — she  would  put  Antony  out  of  the 
world  or  deliver  him  into  his  hands. 

"  This  demand,  which  contains  base  treachery, 
was  impossible  for  her  noble  soul.  Since  she  had 
resolved  to  build  the  tomb,  granting  it  became 
impossible,  yet  Octavianus  made  every  effort  to 
tempt  her  to  the  base  deed.  True,  the  death  of 
this  one  man  would  have  spared  much  bloodshed. 
The  Caesar  knows  how  to  choose  his  tools.  He 
sent  here  as  negotiator  a  clever  young  man,  who 
possessed  great  charms  of  mind  and  person.  No 
plan  to  prejudice  the  Queen  against  her  husband 
and  persuade  her  to  commit  the  treachery  was  left 
untried.  He  went  so  far  as  to  assure  Cleopatra 
that  in  former  years  she  had  won  the  Caesar's 
heart,  and  that  he  still  loved  her.     She  accepted 


CLEOPATRA.  l8i 

these  assurances  at  their  true  value  and  remained 
steadfast. 

"  Antony  at  first  paid  no  heed  to  the  intriguer. 
But  when  he  learned  what  means  he  employed,  and 
especially  how  he  made  use  of  the  surrender  of  one 
of  Caesar's  murderers,  which  he  himself  had  long 
regretted,  to  brand  him  as  an  ungrateful  traitor, 
he  would  not  have  been  Mark  Antony  if  he  had 
accepted  it  quietly.  He  was  completely  his  old 
self  when  he  ordered  the  smooth  fellow — who,  how- 
ever, had  come  as  the  ambassador  of  the  mighty 
victor — to  be  scourged,  sent  him  back  to  Rome,  and 
wrote  a  letter  to  Octavianus,  in  which  he  com- 
plained of  the  man's  arrogance  and  presumption, 
adding — spite  of  my  heavy  heart  I  can  not  help 
smiling  when  I  think  of  it — that  misfortune  had 
rendered  him  unusually  irritable  ;  yet  if  his  action 
perhaps  displeased  Caesar,  he  might  treat  his  freed- 
man  Hipparchus,  who  was  m  his  power,  as  he  had 
served  Thyrsus  ! 

"  You  see  that  his  gay  arrogance  has  not  de- 
serted him.  Trouble  slips  away  from  him  as  rain 
is  shaken  from  the  coarse  military  cloak  which  he 
wore  in  the  Parthian  war,  and  therefore  it  cannot 
exert  its  purifying  power. 

"When  we  consider  that,  a  few  years  ago,  this 
man,  as  it  were,  doubled  himself  when  peril  was 
most  threatening,  his  conduct  now,  on  the  eve  of 
the  decisive  struggle,  is  intelligible  only  to  those 
who  know  him  as  we  do.     If  he  fights,  he  will  no 


l82  CLEOPATRA. 

longer  do  so  to  save  himself,  or  even  to  conquer, 
but  to  die  an  honourable  death.  If  he  still  enjoys 
the  pleasures  offered,  he  believes  that  he  can  thus 
mitigate  for  himself  the  burden  of  defeat,  and  di- 
minish the  grandeur  of  the  conqueror's  victory.  In 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  at  least,  a  man  who  can  still 
revel  like  Antony  is  only  half  vanquished.  Yet 
the  lofty  tone  of  his  mind  was  lowered.  The  sur- 
render of  the  murderer  of  Caesar — his  name  was 
Turullius — proves  it. 

"  And  this,  Barine — tell  your  husband  so — this 
is  what  fills  me  with  anxiety  and  compels  me  to 
entreat  you  not  to  think  of  returning  home  yet. 

"  Antony  is  now  the  jovial  companion  of  his  son, 
and  permits  Antyllus  to  share  all  his  own  pleas- 
ures. Of  course,  he  heard  of  Csesarion's  passion,  and 
is  disposed  to  help  the  poor  fellow.  He  has  often 
said  that  nothing  would  better  serve  to  rouse  the 
dreamer  from  torpor  than  your  charming  vivacity. 
As  the  earth  could  scarcely  have  swallowed  you  up, 
you  would  be  found ;  he,  too,  should  be  glad  to 
hear  you  sing  again.  I  know  that  search  will  be 
made  for  you. 

"  How  imperiously  this  state  of  affairs  requires 
you  to  exercise  caution  needs  no  explanation.  On 
the  other  hand,  you  may  find  comfort  in  the  tidings 
that  Cleopatra  intends  to  send  Csesarion  with  his 
tutor  Rhodon  to  Ethiopia,  by  way  of  the  island  of 
Philae.  Archibius  heard  through  Timagenes  that 
Octavianus  considers  the  son  of  Caesar,  whose  face 


CLEOPATRA. 


•83 


SO  wonderfully  resembles  his  father's,  a  dangerous 
person,  and  this  opinion  is  the  boy's  death-warrant. 
Antyllus,  too,  is  going  on  a  journey.  His  destina- 
tion is  Asia,  where  he  is  to  seek  to  propitiate  Oc- 
tavianus  and  make  him  new  offers.  As  you  know, 
he  was  betrothed  to  his  daughter  Julia.  The 
Queen  ceased  long  ago  to  believe  in  the  possibility 
of  victory,  yet,  spite  of  all  the  demands  of  the 
"  Comrades  of  Death  "  and  her  own  cares,  she  toils 
unweariedly  in  preparing  for  the  defence  of  the 
country.  She  is  doubtless  the  only  member  of  that 
society  who  thinks  seriously  of  the  approaching 
end. 

"  Now  that  the  tomb  is  rising,  she  ponders  con- 
stantly upon  death.  She,  who  was  taught  by  Epi- 
curus to  strive  for  freedom  from  pain  and  is  so  sensi- 
tive to  the  slightest  bodily  suffering,  is  still  seeking 
a  path  which,  with  the  least  agony,  will  lead  to  the 
eternal  rest  for  which  she  longs.  Iras  and  the 
younger  pupils  of  Olympus  are  aiding  her.  The 
old  man  furnishes  all  sorts  of  poisons,  which  she 
tries  upon  various  animals — nay,  recently  even  on 
criminals  sentenced  to  death.  All  these  experiments 
seem  to  prove  that  the  bite  of  the  urseus  serpent, 
whose  image  on  the  Egyptian  crown  symbolizes  the 
sovereign's  instant  power  over  life  and  death,  stills 
the  heart  most  swiftly  and  with  the  least  suffering. 

"  How  terrible  these  things  are  !  What  pain  it 
causes  to  see  the  being  one  loves  most,  the  mother 
of  the  fairest  children,  so  cruelly  heighten  the  an- 


1 84  CLEOPATRA. 

guish  of  parting,  choose  death,  as  it  were,  for  a 
constant  companion,  amid  the  whirl  of  the  gayest 
amusements  !  She  daily  looks  all  his  terrors  in  the 
face,  yet  with  proud  contempt  turns  her  back  upon 
the  bridge  which  might  perhaps  enable  her  for  a 
time  to  escape  the  monster.  This  is  grand,  worthy 
of  her,  and  never  have  I  loved  her  more  tenderly. 

"  You,  too,  must  think  of  her  kindly.  She  de- 
serves it.  A  noble  heart  which  sees  itself  forced 
to  pity  a  foe,  easily  forgives;  and  was  she  ever 
your  enemy  ? 

"  I  have  written  a  long,  lorig  letter  to  solace 
your  seclusion  from  the  world  and  relieve  my  own 
heart.  Have  patience  a  little  while  longer.  The 
time  is  not  far  distant  when  Fate  itself  will  release 
you  from  exile.  How  often  your  relatives,  Ar- 
chibius  and  Gorgias,  whom  I  now  see  frequently  in 
the  presence  of  the  Queen,  long  to  visit  you  ! — but 
they,  too,  believe  that  it  might  prove  a  source  of 
danger." 

The  warnings  in  this  letter  were  confirmed  by 
another  from  Archibius,  and  soon  after  they  heard 
that  Caesarion  had  really  sailed  up  the  Nile  for 
Ethiopia  with  his  tutor  Rhodon,  and  Antyllus  had 
been  sent  to  Asia  to  visit  Octavianus.  The  latter 
had  received  him,  it  is  true  ;  but  sent  him  home 
without  making  any  pledges. 

These  tidings  were  not  brought  by  letter,  but 
by  Gorgias  himself,  whose  visit  surprised  them  one 
evening  late  in  March. 


CLEOPATRA.  1 85 

Rarely  had  a  guest  received  a  more  joyous  wel- 
come. When  he  entered  the  bare  room,  Barine  was 
making  a  net  and  telling  the  fisherman's  daughter 
Dione  the  story  of  the  wanderings  of  Ulysses. 
Dion,  too,  listened  attentively,  now  and  then  cor- 
recting or  explaining  her  descriptions,  while  carv- 
ing a  head  of  Poseidon  for  the  prow  of  a  newly 
built  boat. 

As  Gorgias  unexpectedly  crossed  the  thresh- 
old, the  dim  light  of  the  lamp  fed  by  kiki-oil 
seemed  transformed  into  sunshine.  How  brightly 
their  eyes  sparkled,  how  joyous  were  their  ex- 
clamations of  welcome  and  surprise  !  Then  came 
questions,  answers,  news  !  Gorgias  was  obliged  to 
share  the  family  supper,  which  had  only  waited  the 
return  of  the  father  who  had  brought  the  guest. 

The  fresh  oysters,  langustae,  and  other  dishes 
served  tasted  more  delicious  to  the  denizen  of  the 
city  than  the  most  delicious  banquets  of  the  **  Com- 
rades of  Death  "  to  which  he  was  now  frequently 
invited  by  the  Queen. 

All  that  Pyrrhus  said  voluntarily  and  told  his 
sons  in  reply  to  their  questions  was  so  sensible 
and  related  to  matters  which,  because  they  were 
new  to  Gorgias,  seemed  so  fascinating  that,  when 
Dion's  good  wine  was  served,  he  declared  that  if 
Pyrrhus  would  receive  him  he,  too,  would  search 
for  pursuers  and  be  banished  here. 

When  the  three  again  sat  alone  before  the 
plain  clay  mixing  vessel  it  seemed  to  the  lonely 


1 86  CLEOPATRA. 

young  couple  as  if  the  best  part  of  the  city  life 
which  they  had  left  behind  had  found  its  way  to 
them,  and  what  did  they  not  have  to  say  to  one 
another !  Dion  and  Barine  talked  of  their  hermit 
life,  Gorgias  of  the  Queen  and  the  tomb,  which 
was  at  the  same  time  a  treasure  chamber.  The 
slanting  walls  were  built  as  firmly  as  if  they  were 
intended  to  last  for  centuries  and  defy  a  violent 
assault.  The  centre  of  the  lower  story  was  formed 
by  a  lofty  hall  of  vast  dimensions,  in  whose  midst 
were  the  large  marble  sarcophagi.  Men  were 
working  busily  upon  the  figures  in  relief  intended 
for  the  decoration  of  the  sides  and  lids.  This  hall, 
whose  low  arched  ceiling  was  supported  by  three 
pairs  of  heavy  columns,  was  furnished  like  a  re- 
ception-room. The  couches,  candelabra,  and  altars 
were  already  being  made.  Charmian  had  kept  the 
fugitives  well  informed.  In  the  subterranean 
chambers  at  the  side  of  the  hall,  and  in  the  second 
story,  which  could  not  be  commenced  until  the  ceil- 
ing was  completed,  store-rooms  were  to  be  made, 
and  below  and  beside  them  were  passages  for  ven- 
tilation and  the  storage  of  combustible  materials. 

Gorgias  regretted  that  he  could  not  show  his 
friend  the  hall,  which  was  perhaps  the  handsomest 
and  most  costly  he  had  ever  created.  The  noblest 
material — brown  porphyry,  emerald-green  serpen- 
tine, and  the  dark  varieties  of  marble — had  been 
used,  and  the  mosaic  and  brass  doors,  which  were 
nearing  completion,  were  masterpieces  of  Alexan- 


CLEOPATRA.  1 87 

drian  art.  To  have  all  this  destroyed  was  a  ter- 
rible thought,  but  even  more  unbearable  was 
that  of  its  object — to  receive  the  body  of  the 
Queen. 

Again  rapturous  admiration  of  this  greatest 
and  noblest  of  women  led  Gorgias  to  enthusiastic 
rhapsodies,  until  Dion  exercised  his  office  of  so- 
berer, and  Barine  asked  tidings  of  her  mother,  her 
grandparents,  and  her  sister.  There  was  nothing 
but  good  news  to  be  told.  True,  the  architect  had 
to  wage  a  daily  battle  with  the  old  philosopher, 
who  termed  it  an  abuse  of  hospitality  to  remain  so 
long  at  his  friend's  with  his  whole  family ;  but  thus 
far  Gorgias  had  won  the  victory,  even  against 
Berenike,  who  wished  to  take  her  father  and  his 
household  to  her  own  home. 

Cleopatra  had  purchased  the  house  and  garden 
of  Didymus  at  thrice  their  value,  the  architect 
added.  He  was  now  a  wealthy  man,  and  had  com- 
missioned him  to  build  a  new  mansion.  The  land 
facing  the  sea  and  near  the  museum  had  been 
found,  but  the  handsome  residence  would  not  be 
completed  until  summer.  The  dry  Egyptian  air 
would  have  permitted  him  to  roof  it  sooner,  but 
there  were  many  of  Helena's  wishes — most  of  them 
very  sensible  ones — to  be  executed. 

Barine  and  Dion  glanced  significantly  at  each 
other ;  but  the  architect,  perceiving  it,  exclaimed  : 
**Your  mute  language  is  intelligible  enough,  and  I 
confess  that  for  five  months  Helena  has  seemed  to 


1 88  CLEOPATRA. 

me  the  most  attractive  of  maidens.  I  see,  too, 
that  she  has  some  regard  for  me.  But  as  soon  as 
I  stand  before  her — the  Queen,  I  mean — and  hear 
her  voice,  it  seems  as  if  a  tempest  swept  away  every 
thought  of  Helena,  and  it  is  not  in  my  nature  to 
deceive  any  one.  How  can  I  woo  a  girl  whom  I  so 
deeply  honour — your  sister,  Barine — when  the  im- 
age of  another  rules  my  soul  ?  " 

Dion  reminded  him  of  his  own  words  that  the 
Queen  was  loved  only  as  a  goddess  and,  without 
waiting  for  his  reply,  turned  the  conversation  to 
other  topics. 

It  was  three  hours  after  midnight  when  Pyrrhus 
warned  Gorgias  that  it  was  time  for  departure. 
When  the  fisherman's  fleetest  boat  was  at  last 
bearing  him  back  to  the  city  he  wondered  whether 
girls  who,  before  marriage,  lived  like  Helena  in 
undisturbed  seclusion,  would  really  be  better  wives 
and  more  content  with  every  lot  than  the  much- 
courted  Barine,  whom  Dion  had  led  from  the  gay- 
est whirl  of  life  in  the  capital  to  the  most  desolate 
solitude. 

This  delightful  evening  was  followed  by  a  day 
of  excitement  and  grave  anxiety.  It  had  been 
necessary  to  conceal  the  young  couple  from  the 
collector's  officials,  who  took  from  Pyrrhus  part  of 
his  last  year's  savings,  and  the  large  new  boat 
which  he  used  to  go  out  on  the  open  sea.  The 
preparations  for  war  required  large  sums;  all  ves- 
sels suitable  for  the  purpose  were  seized  for  the 


CLEOPATRA.  1 89 

fleet,  and  all  residents  of  the  city  and  country 
shared  the  same  fate  as  Pyrrhus. 

Even  the  temple  treasures  were  confiscated,  and 
yet  no  one  could  help  saying  to  himself  that  the 
vast  sums  which,  through  these  pitiless  extortions, 
flowed  into  the  treasury,  were  used  for  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  court  as  well  as  for  the  equipment  of 
the  fleet  and  the  army. 

Yet  so  great  was  the  people's  love  for  the 
Queen,  so  high  their  regard  for  the  independence 
of  Egypt,  so  bitter  their  hate  of  Rome,  that  there 
was  no  rebellion. 

How  earnestly  Cleopatra,  amid  all  the  extrava- 
gant revels,  from  which  she  could  not  too  fre- 
quently absent  herself,  toiled  to  advance  the  mili- 
tary preparations,  could  be  seen  even  by  the  exiles 
from  their  cliff ;  for  work  in  two  dock-yards  was 
continued  day  and  night,  and  the  harbour  was 
filled  with  vessels.  Ships  of  war  were  continually 
moving  to  and  fro,  and  from  the  Serpent  Island 
they  witnessed  constantly,  often  by  starlight,  the 
drilling  of  the  oarsmen  and  of  whole  squadrons 
upon  the  open  sea.  Sometimes  a  magnificent 
state  galley  appeared,  on  whose  deck  was  Antony, 
who  inspected  the  hastily  equipped  fleet  to  make 
the  newly  recruited  sailors  one  of  those  kindling 
speeches  in  which  he  was  a  master  hard  to  surpass. 
Two  sons  of  Pyrrhus  were  now  numbered  in  the 
crews  of  the  recently  built  war  ships.  They  had 
been  impressed  into  the  service  in  April,  and 
33 


igo 


CLEOPATRA. 


though  Dion  had  placed  a  large  sum  at  their 
father's  disposal  to  secure  their  release,  the  at- 
tempt was  unsuccessful. 

So  there  had  been  sorrow  and  tears  in  the  con- 
tented little  colony  of  human  beings  on  the  lonely- 
cliff,  and  when  Dionysus  and  Dionichos  had  a 
day's  leave  of  absence  to  visit  their  relatives,  they 
complained  of  the  cruel  haste  with  which  the  young 
men  were  drilled  and  wearied  to  exhaustion,  and 
spoke  of  the  sons  of  citizens  and  peasants  who  had 
been  dragged  from  their  villages,  their  parents,  and 
their  business  to  be  trained  for  seamen.  There 
was  great  indignation  among  them,  and  they  lis- 
tened only  too  readily  to  the  agitators  who  whis- 
pered how  much  better  they  would  have  fared  on 
the  galleys  of  Octavianus. 

Pyrrhus  entreated  his  sons  not  to  join  any 
attempt  at  mutiny ;  the  women,  on  the  contrary, 
would  have  approved  anything  which  promised  to 
release  the  youths  from  their  severe  service,  and 
their  bright  cheerfulness  was  transformed  into 
anxious  depression.  Barine,  too,  was  no  longer 
the  same.  She  had  lost  her  joyous  activity,  her 
eyes  were  often  wet  with  tears,  and  she  moved  with 
drooping  head  as  if  some  heavy  care  oppressed 
her. 

Was  it  the  heat  of  April,  with  its  desert  winds, 
which  had  brought  the  transformation  ?  Had  long- 
ing for  the  changeful,  exciting  life  of  former  days 
at  last  overpowered  her  ?    Was  solitude  becoming 


CLEOPATRA.  I9I 

unendurable  ?  Was  her  husband's  love  no  longer 
sufficient  to  replace  the  many  pleasures  she  had 
sacrificed  ? — No  !  It  could  not  be  that ;  never  had 
she  gazed  with  more  devoted  tenderness  into 
Dion's  face  than  when  entirely  alone  with  him  in 
shady  nooks.  She  who  in  such  hours  looked  the 
very  embodiment  of  happiness  and  contentment, 
certainly  was  neither  ill  nor  sorrowful. 

Dion,  on  the  contrary,  held  his  head  high  early 
and  late,  and  appeared  as  proud  and  self-conscious 
as  though  life  was  showing  him  its  fairest  face.  Yet 
he  had  heard  that  his  estates  had  been  seques- 
trated, and  that  he  owed  it  solely  to  the  influence  of 
Archibius  and  his  uncle,  that  his  property,  like  that 
of  so  many  others,  had  not  been  added  to  the  royal 
treasures.  But  what  disaster  could  he  not  have 
speedily  vanquished  in  these  days  ? 

A  great  joy — the  greatest  which  the  immortals 
can  bestow  upon  human  beings — was  dawning  for 
him  and  his  young  wife,  and  in  May  the  women  on 
the  island  shared  her  blissful  hope. 

Pyrrhus  brought  from  the  city  an  altar  and  a 
marble  statue  of  Ilythyia,  the  Goddess  of  Birth, 
called  by  the  Romans  Lucina,  which  his  friend 
Anukis  had  given  him,  in  Charmian's  name,  for  the 
young  wife.  She  had  again  spoken  of  the  ser- 
pents which  lived  in  such  numbers  in  the  neigh- 
bouring islands,  and  her  question  whether  it  would 
be  difficult  to  capture  one  alive  was  answered  by 
the  freedman  in  the  negative. 


192 


CLEOPATRA. 


The  image  of  the  goddess  and  the  altar  were 
erected  beside  the  other  sanctuaries,  and  how  often 
the  stone  was  anointed  by  Barine'and  the  women 
of  the  fisherman's  family ! 

Dion  vowed  to  the  goddess  a  beautiful  temple 
on  the  cliff  and  in  the  city  if  she  would  be  gracious 
to  his  beloved  young  wife. 

When,  in  June,  the  noonday  sun  blazed  most 
fiercely,  the  fisherman  brought  to  the  cliff  Helena, 
Barine's  sister,  and  Chloris,  Dion's  nurse,  who  had 
been  a  faithful  assistant  of  his  mother,  and  after- 
wards managed  the  female  slaves  of  the  house- 
hold. 

How  joyously  and  gratefully  Barine  held  out 
her  arms  to  her  sister !  Her  mother  had  been  pre- 
veited  from  coming  only  by  the  warning  that  her 
disappearance  would  surely  attract  the  attention  of 
the  spies.  And  the  latter  were  very  alert ;  for 
Mark  Antony  had  not  yet  given  up  the  pursuit  of 
the  singer,  nor  had  the  attorney  Philostratus  re- 
called the  proclamation  offering  two  talents  for 
the  capture  of  Dion,  and  both  the  latter's  palace 
and  Berenike's  house  were  constantly  watched. 

It  seemed  more  difficult  for  the  quiet  Helena  to 
accommodate  herself  to  this  solitude  than  for  her 
gayer-natured  sister.  Plainly  as  she  showed  her 
love  for  Barine,  she  often  lapsed  into  reverie,  and 
every  evening  she  went  to  the  southern  side  of  the 
cliff  and  gazed  towards  the  city,  where  her  grand- 
parents  doubtless  sorely  missed  her,  spite  of  the 


CLEOPATRA. 


193 


careful  attention  bestowed  upon  them  in  Gorgias*s 
house. 

Eight  days  had  passed  since  her  arrival,  and 
life  in  this  wilderness  seemed  more  distasteful  than 
on  the  first  and  the  second  ;  the  longing  for  her 
grandparents,  too,  appeared  to  increase ;  for  that 
day  she  had  gone  to  the  shore,  even  under  the 
burning  rays  of  the  noonday  sun,  to  gaze  towards 
the  city. 

How  dearly  she  loved  the  old  people  ! 

But  Dion's  conjecture  that  the  tears  sparkling 
in  Helena's  eyes  when  she  entered  their  room  at 
.dusk  were  connected  with  another  resident  of  the 
capital,  spite  of  his  wife's  indignant  denial,  ap- 
peared to  be  correct ;  for,  a  short  time  after,  clear 
voices  were  heard  in  front  of  the  house,  and  when 
a  deep,  hearty  laugh  rang  out,  Dion  started  up,  ex- 
claiming, "  Gorgias  never  laughs  in  that  way,  ex- 
cept when  he  has  had  some  unusual  piece  of  good 
fortune !  " 

He  hurried  out  as  he  spoke,  and  gazed  around ; 
but,  notwithstanding  the  bright  moonlight,  he  could 
see  nothing  except  Father  Pyrrhusonhis  way  back 
to  the  anchorage. 

But  Dion's  ears  were  keen,  and  he  fancied  he 
heard  subdued  voices  on  the  other  side  of  the 
dwelling.  He  followed  the  sound  without  delay 
and,  when  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  building, 
stopped  short  in  astonishment,  exclaiming  as  a  lov/ 
cry  rose  close  before  him  : 


194 


CLEOPATRA. 


"Good-evening,  Gorgias  !  I'll  see  you  later. 
I  won't  interrupt  you.'* 

A  few  rapid  steps  took  him  back  to  Barine,  and 
as  he  whispered,  '^  I  saw  Helena  out  in  the  moon- 
light, soothing  her  longing  for  her  grandparents 
in  Gorgias's  arms,"  she  clapped  her  hands  and 
said,  smiling: 

**  That's  the  way  one  loses  good  manners  in  this 
solitude.  To  disturb  the  first  meeting  of  a  pair 
of  lovers  !  But  Gorgias  treated  us  in  the  same 
way  in  Alexandria,  so  he  is  now  paid  in  his  own 
coin." 

The  architect  soon  entered  the  room,  with 
Helena  leaning  on  his  arm.  Hour  by  hour  he  had 
missed  her  more  and  more  painfully,  and  on  the 
eighth  day  found  it  impossible  to  endure  life's  bur- 
den longer  without  her.  He  now  protested  that 
he  could  approach  her  mother  and  grandparents  as 
a  suitor  with  a  clear  conscience;  for  on  the  third 
day  after  Helena's  departure  the  relation  between 
him  and  the  Queen  had  changed.  In  Cleopatra's 
presence  the  image  of  the  granddaughter  of  Didy- 
mus  became  even  more  vivid  than  that  of  the  peer- 
less sovereign  had  formerly  been  in  Helena's. 
Outside  of  the  pages  of  poetry  he  had  never  ex- 
perienced longing  like  that  which  had  tortured  him 
during  the  past  few  days. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

This  time  the  architect  could  spend  only  a  few 
hours  on  the  Serpent  Island,  for  affairs  in  the  city- 
were  beginning  to  wear  a  very  serious  aspect,  and 
the  building  of  the  monument  was  pushed  forward 
even  during  the  night.  The  interior  of  the  first 
story  was  nearly  completed  and  the  rough  portion 
of  the  second  was  progressing.  The  mosaic  work- 
ers, who  were  making  the  floor  of  the  great  hall, 
had  surpassed  themselves.  It  was  impossible  to 
wait  longer  for  the  sculptures  which  were  to  adorn 
the  walls.  At  present  slabs  of  polished  black  mar- 
ble were  to  occupy  the  places  mtended  for  bronze 
reliefs ;  the  utmost  haste  was  necessary. 

Octavianus  had  already  reached  Pelusium ;  even 
if  Seleukus,  the  commander  of  the  garrison,  held 
the  strong  fortress  a  long  time,  a  part  of  the  hos- 
tile army  might  appear  before  Alexandria  the  fol- 
lowing week. 

A  considerable  force,  however,  was  ready  to 
meet  him.  The  fleet  seemed  equal  to  that  of  the 
enemy  ;  the  horsemen  whom  Antony  had  led  before 
the  Queen  would  delight  the  eye  of  any  one  versed 


196  CLEOPATRA.        ^ 

in  military  affairs ;  and  the  Imperator  hoped  much 
from  the  veterans  who  had  served  under  him  in 
former  times,  learned  to  know  his  generosity  and 
open  hand  in  the  hour  of  prosperity,  and  probably 
had  scarcely  forgotten  the  eventful  days  when  he 
had  cheerfully  and  gaily  shared  their  perils  and 
privations. 

Helena  remained  on  the  cliff,  and  her  longing 
for  the  old  couple  had  materially  diminished.  Her 
hands  moved  nimbly,  and  her  cheerful  glance 
showed  that  the  lonely  life  on  the  island  was  be- 
ginning to  unfold  its  charms  to  her. 

The  young  husband,  however,  had  grown  very 
uneasy.  He  concealed  it  before  the  women,  but 
old  Pyrrhus  often  had  much  difficulty  in  prevent- 
ing his  making  a  trip  to  the  city  which  might 
imperil,  on  the  eve  of  the  final  decision,  the  result 
of  their  long  endurance  and  privation.  Dion  had 
often  wished  to  set  sail  with  his  wife  for  a  great 
city  in  Syria  or  Greece,  but  fresh  and  mighty  ob- 
stacles had  deterred  him.  A  special  danger  lay  in 
the  fact  that  every  large  vessel  was  thoroughly 
searched  before  it  left  the  harbour,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  escape  from  it  without  passing 
through  the  narrow  straits  east  of  the  Pharos  or 
the  opening  in  the  Heptastadium,  both  of  which 
were  easily  guarded.  The  calm  moderation  that 
usually  distinguished  the  young  counsellor  had 
been  transformed  into  feverish  restlessness,  and 
the  heart  of  his  faithful  old  monitor  had  also  lost 


CLEOPATRA.  1 97 

its  poise;  for  an  encounter  between  the  fleet  in 
which  his  sons  served  and  that  of  Octavianus  was 
speedily  expected. 

One  day  he  returned  from  the  city  greatly 
excited.     Pelusium  was  said  to  have  fallen. 

When  he  ascended  the  cliff  he  found  everything 
quiet.  No  one,  not  even  Dione,  came  to  meet 
him. 

What  had  happened  here  ? 

Had  the  fugitives  been  discovered  and  dragged 
with  his  family  to  the  city  to  be  thrown  into  pris- 
on, perhaps  sent  to  the  stone  quarries  ? 

Deadly  pale,  but  erect  and  composed,  he  walked 
towards  the  house.  He  owed  to  Dion  and  his 
father  the  greatest  blessing  in  life,  liberty,  and  the 
foundation  of  everything  else  he  possessed.  But 
if  his  fears  were  verified,  if  he  was  bereft  of  friends 
and  property,  even  as  a  lonely  beggar  he  might 
continue  to  enjoy  his  freedom.  If,  for  the  sake  of 
those  to  whom  he  owed  his  best  possession,  he 
must  surrender  the  rest,  it  was  his  duty  to  bear 
fate  patiently. 

It  was  still  light. 

Even  when  he  had  approached  very  near  the 
house  he  heard  no  sound  save  the  joyous  barking 
of  his  wolf-hound,  Argus,  which  leaped  upon  him. 

He  now  laid  his  hand  upon  the  lock  of  the 
door — but  it  was  flung  open  from  the  inside. 

Dion  had  seen  him  coming  and,  enraptured  by 
the  new  happiness  with  which  this  day  had  blessed 


198  CLEOPATRA. 

him,  he  flung  himself  impetuously  on  the  breast  of 
his  faithful  friend,  exclaiming  :  "  A  boy,  a  splendid 
boy!     We  will  call  him  Pyrrhus."   - 

Bright  tears  of  joy  streamed  down  the  freed- 
man's  face  and  fell  on  his  grey  beard ;  and  when 
his  wife  came  towards  him  with  her  finger  on  her 
lips,  he  whispered  in  a  tremulous  voice :  "  When  I 
brought  them  here  you  were  afraid  that  the  city 
people  would  drag  us  into  ruin,  but  nevertheless 
you  received  them  as  they  deserved  to  be,  and — 
he's  going  to  name  him  Pyrrhus — and  now ! — 
What  has  a  poor  fellow  like  me  done  to  have  such 
great  and  beautiful  blessings  fall  to  my  lot  ?" 

*'  And  I — I  ?  "  sobbed  his  wife.  "  And  the  child, 
the  darling  little  creature  !  " 

This  day  of  sunny  happiness  was  followed  by 
others  of  quiet  joy,  of  the  purest  pleasure,  yet 
mingled  with  the  deepest  anxiety.  They  also 
brought  many  an  hour  in  which  Helena  found  an 
opportunity  to  show  her  prudence,  while  old 
Chloris  and  the  fisherman's  wife  aided  her  by  their 
experience. 

Every  one,  down  to  the  greybeard  whose  name 
the  little  one  bore,  declared  that  there  had  never 
been  a  lovelier  young  mother  than  Barine  or  a 
handsomer  child  than  the  infant  Pyrrhus;  but 
Dion  could  no  longer  endure  to  remain  on  the 
cliff. 

A  thousand  things  which  he  had  hitherto 
deemed  insignificant  and  allowed  to  pass  unheeded 


CLEOPATRA. 


199 


now  seemed  important  and  imperatively  in  need 
of  iiis  personal  attention.  He  was  a  father,  and 
any  negligence  might  be  harmful  to  his  son. 

With  his  bronzed  complexion  and  long  hair 
and  beard  he  required  little  aid  to  disguise  him 
from  his  friends.  In  the  garments  shabby  by  long 
use,  and  with  his  delicate  hands  calloused  by  work 
in  the  dock-yard,  any  one  would  have  taken  him 
for  a  real  fisherman. 

Perhaps  it  was  foolish,  but  the  desire  to  show 
himself  in  the  character  of  a  father  to  Barine's 
mother  and  grandparents  and  to  Gorgias  seemed 
worth  risking  a  slight  danger ;  so,  without  inform- 
ing Barine,  who  was  now  able  to  walk  about  her 
room,  he  set  out  for  the  city  after  sunset  on  the 
last  day  of  July. 

He  knew  that  Octavianus  was  encamped  in  the 
Hippodrome  east  of  Alexandria.  The  white  mounds 
which  had  risen  there  had  been  recognized  as  tents, 
even  from  the  Serpent  Island.  Pyrrhus  had  re- 
turned in  the  afternoon  with  tidings  that  Antony's 
mounted  troops  had  defeated  those  of  Octavianus. 
This  time  the  news  of  victory  could  be  trusted, 
for  the  palace  at  Lochias  was  illuminated  for  a 
festival  and  when  Dion  landed  there  was  a  great 
bustle  on  the  quay.  One  shouted  to  another  that 
all  would  be  well.  Mark  Antony  was  his  old  self 
again.     He  had  fought  like  a  hero. 

Many  who  yesterday  had  cursed  him,  to-day 
mingled  their  voices  in  the  shouts  of  ^'  Evoe  !  "  which 


200  CLEOPATRA. 

rang  out  for  the  new  Dionysus,  who  had  again 
proved  his  claim  to  godship. 

The  late  visitor  found  the  grandparents  alone 
in  the  house  of  Gorgias.  They  had  been  informed 
of  Barine's  new  happiness  long  before.  Now  they 
rejoiced  with  Dion,  and  wanted  to  send  at  once  for 
their  host  and  future  son-in-law,  who  was  in  the 
city  attending  a  meeting  of  the  Ephebi,  although 
he  had  ceased  some  time  ago  to  be  a  member  of 
their  company.  But  Dion  wished  to  greet  him 
among  the  youths  who  had  invited  the  architect 
to  give  them  his  aid  in  deciding  the  question  of 
the  course  they  were  to  pursue  in  the  impending 
battle. 

Yet  he  did  not  leave  the  old  couple  immediate- 
ly ;  he  was  expecting  two  visitors — Barine's  mother 
and  Charmian's  Nubian  maid  who,  since  the  birth 
of  little  Pyrrhus,  had  come  to  the  philosopher's 
every  evening.  The  former's  errand  was  to  ask 
whether  any  news  of  the  mother  and  child  had  been 
received  during  the  day ;  the  latter,  to  get  the  let- 
ters which  she  delivered  the  next  morning  at  the 
fish-market  to  her  friend  Pyrrhus  or  his  sons. 

Anukis  was  the  first  to  appear.  She  relieved 
her  sympathizing  heart  by  a  brief  expression  of 
congratulations ;  but,  gladly  as  she  would  have 
listened  to  the  most  minute  details  concerning  the 
beloved  young  mother  from  the  lips  of  Dion  him- 
self, she  repressed  her  own  wishes  for  her  mistress's 
sake,  and  returned  to  Charmian  as  quickly  as  pos- 


CLEOPATRA.  20I 

sible  to  inform  her  of  the  arrival  of  the  unexpected 
guest. 

Berenike  bore  her  new  dignity  of  grandmother 
with  grateful  joy,  yet  to-night  she  came  oppressed 
by  a  grave  anxiety,  which  was  not  solely  due  to  her 
power  of  imagining  gloomy  events.  Her  brother 
Arius  and  his  sons  were  concealed  in  the  house  of 
a  friend,  for  they  seemed  threatened  by  a  serious 
peril.  Hitherto  Antony  had  generously  borne  the 
philosopher  no  ill-will  on  the  score  of  his  intimate 
relations  with  Octavianus;  but  now  that  Octavianus 
was  encamped  outside  the  city,  the  house  of  the 
man  who,  during  the  latter*s  years  of  education,  had 
been  his  mentor  and  counsellor,  and  later  a  greatly 
valued  friend,  was  watched,  by  Mardion's  orders, 
by  the  Scythian  guard.  He  and  his  family  were 
forbidden  to  enter  the  city,  and  his  escape  to  his 
friend  had  been  effected  under  cover  of  the  dark- 
ness and  with  great  danger. 

The  anxious  woman  feared  the  worst  for  her 
brother  if  Mark  Antony  should  conquer,  and  yet, 
with  her  whole  heart,  she  wished  the  Queen  to  gain 
the  victory.  She,  who  always  feared  the  worst, 
saw  in  imagination  the  fortunes  of  war  change — 
and  there  was  reason  for  the  belief.  The  bold  gen- 
eral who  had  gained  so  many  victories,  and  whom 
the  defeat  of  Actium  had  only  humbled,  was  said 
to  have  regained  his  former  elasticity.  He  had 
dashed  forward  at  the  head  of  his  men  with  the 
heroic  courage  of  former  days — nay,  with  reckless 


202  CLEOPATRA. 

impetuosity.  Rumour  reported  that,  with  the  huge 
sword  he  wielded,  he  had  dealt  from  his  powerful 
charger  blows  as  terrible  as  those  inflicted  five-and- 
twenty  years  before  when,  not  far  from  the  same 
spot,  he  struck  Archelaus  on  the  head.  The  state- 
ment that,  in  his  golden  armour,  with  the  gold  hel- 
met framing  his  bearded  face,  he  resembled  his  an- 
cestor Herakles,  was  confirmed  by  Charmian,  who 
had  been  borne  quickly  hither  by  a  pair  of  the 
Queen's  swift  horses.  Cleopatra  might  need  her 
soon,  yet  she  had  left  the  Lochias  to  question  the 
father  about  many  things  concerning  the  young 
mother  and  her  boy,  who  was  already  dear  to  her 
as  the  first  grandson  of  the  man  whose  suit,  it  is 
true,  she  had  rejected,  but  to  whom  she  owed  the 
delicious  consciousness  of  having  loved  and  been 
loved  in  the  springtime  of  life. 

Dion  found  her  changed.  The  trying  months 
which  she  had  described  in  her  letters  to  Barine 
had  completely  blanched  her  grey  hair,  her  cheeks 
were  sunken,  and  a  deep  line  between  her  mouth 
and  nose  gave  her  pleasant  face  a  sorrowful  ex- 
pression. Besides,  she  seemed  to  have  been  weep- 
ing and,  in  fact,  heart-rending  events  had  just  oc- 
curred. 

She  had  stolen  away  from  Lochias  in  the  midst 
of  a  revel. 

Antony's  victory  was  being  celebrated.  He 
himself  presided  at  the  banquet.  Again  his  head 
and  breast  were  wreathed  with  a  wealth  of  fresh 


CLEOPATRA. 


203 


leaves  and  superb  flowers.  At  his  side  reclined 
Cleopatra,  robed  in  light-blue  garments  adorned 
with  lotus-flowers  which,  like  the  little  coronet 
on  her  head,  glittered  with  sapphires  and  pearls. 
Charmian  said  she  had  rarely  looked  more  beauti- 
ful. But  she  did  not  add  that  the  Queen  had  been 
obliged  to  have  rouge  applied  to  her  pale,  bloodless 
cheeks. 

It  was  touching  to  see  Antony  after  his  return 
from  the  battle,  still  in  his  suit  of  mail,  clasp  her 
in  his  arms  as  joyously  as  if  he  had  won  her  back, 
a  prize  of  victory,  and  with  his  vanished  heroic 
power  regained  her  and  their  mutual  love.  Her 
eyes,  too,  had  been  radiant  with  joy  and,  in  the 
elation  of  her  heart,  she  had  given  the  horseman 
who,  for  a  deed  of  special  daring,  was  present- 
ed to  her,  a  helmet  and  coat  of  mail  of  solid 
gold. 

Yet,  even  before  the  revel  began,  she  had  been 
forced  to  acknowledge  to  herself  that  the  com- 
mencement of  the  end  was  approaching ;  fbr,  a  few 
hours  after  she  had  so  generously  rewarded  the 
man,  he  had  deserted  to  the  foe.  Then  Antony  had 
challenged  Octavianus  to  a  duel,  and  received  the 
unfeeling  reply  that  he  would  find  many  roads  to 
death  open. 

This  was  the  language  of  the  cold-hearted  foe, 
secure  of  superior  power.  How  sadly,  too,  she  had 
been  disappointed  in  the  hope  that  the  veterans 
who  had  served  under  Antony  would  desert  their 


204  CLEOPATRA. 

new  commander  at  the  first  summons  and  flock  to 
his  standard ! — for  all  her  husband's  efforts  in  this 
direction,  spite  of  the  bewitching  power  of  his  elo- 
quence, failed,  while  every  hour  brought  tidings  of 
the  treacherous  desertion  from  his  army  of  in- 
dividual warriors  and  whole  maniples.  His  foe 
deemed  his  cause  so  weak  that  he  did  not  even 
resist  Mark  Antony's  attempts  to  win  the  soldiers 
by  promises. 

From  all  these  signs  Cleopatra  now  saw  plainly, 
in  her  lover's  victory,  only  the  last  flicker  of  a  dy- 
ing fire ;  but  so  long  as  it  burned  he  should  see  her 
follow  its  light. 

Therefore  she  had  entered  the  festal  hall  with 
the  victor  of  the  day.  She  had  witnessed  a  strange 
festival.  It  began  with  tears  and  reminded  Cleo- 
patra of  the  saying  that  she  herself  resembled  a 
banquet  served  to  celebrate  a  victory  before  the 
battle  was  won.  The  cup-bearers  had  scarcely  ad- 
vanced to  the  guests  with  their  golden  vessels 
when  Antony  turned  to  them,  exclaiming :  "  Pour 
generously,  men  ;  perhaps  to-morrow  you  will  serve 
another  master ! " 

Then,  unlike  his  usual  self,  he  grew  thoughtful 
and  murmured  under  his  breath,  "And  I  shall 
probably  be  lying  outside  a  corpse,  a  miserable 
nothing." 

Loud  sobs  from  the  cup-bearers  and  servants 
followed  these  words;  but  he  addressed  them 
calmly,  assuring  them  that  he  would  not  take  them 


CLEOPATRA.  205 

into  a  battle  from  which  he  expected  an  honour- 
able death  rather  than  rescue  and  victory. 

At  this  Cleopatra's  tears  flowed  also.  If  this 
reckless  man  of  pleasure,  this  notorious  spend- 
thrift and  disturber  of  the  public  peace,  with  his 
insatiate  desires,  had  inspired  bitter  hostility,  few 
had  gained  the  warm  love  of  so  many  hearts.  One 
glance  at  his  heroic  figure ;  one  memory  of  the 
days  when  even  his  foes  conceded  that  he  was 
never  greater  than  in  the  presence  of  the  most  im- 
minent peril,  never  more  capable  of  awakening  in 
others  the  hope  of  brighter  times  than  amid  the 
sorest  privations;  one  tone  of  the  orator's  deep, 
resonant  voice,  which  so  often  came  from  the 
heart  and  therefore  gained  hearts  with  such  resist- 
less power  ;  the  recollection  of  numberless  instances 
of  the  bright  cheerfulness  of  his  nature  and  his 
boundless  generosity  sufficiently  explained  the 
lamentations  which  burst  forth  at  that  banquet, 
the  tears  which  flowed — tears  of  genuine  feeling. 
They  were  also  shed  for  the  beautiful  Queen  who, 
unmindful  of  the  spectators,  rested  her  noble  brow, 
with  its  coronal  of  pearls,  upon  his  mighty  shoulder. 

But  the  grief  did  not  last  long,  for  Mark  Anto- 
ny, shouted:  "  Hence  with  melancholy!  We  do  not 
need  the  larva !  *    We  know,  without  its  aid,  that 

*  At  the  banquets  of  the  Egyptians  a  small  figure  in  the 

shape  of  a  mummy  was  passed  around  to  remind  the  guests  that 

they,  too,  would  soon  be  in  the  same  condition,  and  have  no 

more  time  to  enjoy  life  and  its  pleasures.     The   Romans  imi- 

34 


206  CLEOPATRA. 

pleasure  will  soon  be  over ! — Xuthus,  a  joyous 
festal  song  ! — And  you,  Metrodor,  lead  the  dancers ! 
The  first  beaker  to  the  fairest,  the  -best,  the  wisest, 
the  most  cherished,  the  most  fervently  beloved  of 
women  !  "  As  he  spoke  he  waved  his  goblet  aloft, 
the  flute-player,  Xuthus,  beckoned  to  the  chorus, 
and  the  dancer  Metrodor,  in  the  guise  of  a  butter- 
fly, led  forth  a  bevy  of  beautiful  girls,  who,  in 
the  cloud  of  ample  robes  of  transparent  coloured 
bombyx  which  floated  around  them,  executed  the 
most  graceful  figures  and  now  hovered  like  mists, 
now  flitted  to  and  fro  as  if  borne  on  wings,  afford- 
ing the  most  charming  variety  to  the  delighted 
spectators. 

The  "  Comrades  of  Death  "  had  again  become 
companions  in  pleasure ;  and  when  Charmian,  who 
did  not  lose  sight  of  her  mistress,  noticed  the  sor- 
rowful quiver  of  her  lips  and  glided  out  of  the  cir- 
cle of  guests,  the  faithful  Nubian  had  approached 
to  inform  her  of  Dion's  arrival. 

Then — but  this  she  concealed  from  her  friends 
— she  hastened  to  her  own  apartments  to  prepare 
to  go  out,  and  when  Iras  opened  the  door  to  enter 
her  rooms  she  went  to  speak  to  her  about  the  night 
attendance  upon  the  Queen.  But  her  niece  had 
not  perceived  her ;  shaken  by  convulsive  sobs,  she 

tated  this .  custom  by  sending  the  larva,  a  statuette  in  the  form 
of  a  skeleton,  to  make  the  round  of  the  revellers.  The  Greek 
love  of  beauty  converted  this  ugly  scarecrow  into  a  winged 
genius. 


CLEOPATRA.  20/ 

had  pressed  her  face  among  the  cushions  of  a 
couch,  and  there  suffered  the  fierce  anguish  which 
had  stirred  the  inmost  depths  of  her  being  to  rave 
itself  out  with  the  full  vehemence  of  her  passionate 
nature.  Charmian  called  her  name  and,  weeping 
herself,  opened  her  arms  to  her,  and  for  the  first 
time  since  her  return  from  Actium  her  sister's 
daughter  again  sank  upon  her  breast,  and  they 
held  each  other  in  a  close  embrace  until  Charmian's 
exclamation,  ^'  With  her,  for  her  unto  death ! " 
was  answered  by  Iras's  "  To  the  tomb  !  '* 

This  was  a  word  which,  in  many  an  hour  of  the 
silent  night,  had  stirred  the  soul  of  the  woman  who 
had  been  the  youthful  playmate  of  the  Queen  who, 
with  bleeding  heart,  sat  below  among  the  revellers 
at  the  noisy  banquet  and  forced  her  to  ask  the 
question  :  "  Is  not  your  fate  bound  to  hers  ?  What 
can  life  offer  you  without  her?" 

Now,  this  word  was  spoken  by  other  lips,  and, 
like  an  echo  of  Iras's  exclamation,  came  the  an- 
swer:  "  Unto  death,  like  you,  if  she  precedes  us  to 
the  other  world.  Whatever  may  follow  dying, 
nowhere  shall  she  lack  Charmian's  hand  and 
heart." 

"  Nor  the  love  and  service  of  Iras,"  was  the 
answering  assurance. 

So  they  had  parted,  and  the  agitation  of  this 
fateful  moment  was  still  visible  in  the  features  of 
the  woman  who  had  formerly  sacrificed  to  her  royal 
playfellow  her  love,  and  now  offered  her  life. 


2o8  CLEOPATRA. 

When,  ere  leaving  Gorgias's  house,  she  bade 
her  friend  farewell,  she  pressed  Dion's  hand  with 
affectionate  warmth  and,  as  he  accompanied  her  to 
the  carriage,  she  informed  him  that,  before  the 
first  encounter  of  the  troops,  Archibius  had  taken 
the  royal  children  to  his  estate  of  Irenia,  where 
they  were  at  present. 

"  Rarely  has  it  been  my  fate  to  experience  a 
more  sorrowful  hour  than  when  I  beheld  the 
Queen,  her  heart  torn  with  anguish,  bid  them  fare- 
well. What  fate  is  impending  over  the  dear  ones, 
who  are  so  worthy  of  the  greatest  happiness  ?  To 
see  the  twins  and  little  Alexander  recognized  and 
saved  from  death  and  insult,  and  your  boy  in 
Barine's  arms,  is  the  last  wish  which  I  still 
cherish." 

On  returning  to  Lochias,  Charmian  had  a  long 
time  to  wait  ere  the  Queen  retired.  She  dreaded 
the  mood  in  which  she  would  leave  the  banquet. 
For  months  past  Cleopatra  had  returned  from  the 
revels  of  the  "  Comrades  of  Death  "  saddened  to 
tears,  or  in  a  blaze  of  indignation.  How  must 
this  last  banquet,  which  began  so  mournfully 
apd  continued  with  such  reckless  mirth,  affect 
her? 

At  last,  the  second  hour  after  midnight,  Cleo- 
patra appeared. 

Charmian  believed  that  she  must  be  the  sport 
of  some  delusion,  for  the  Queen's  eyes  which, 
when   she   had  left  her,  were  full  of   tears,  now 


CLEOPATRA. 


209 


sparkled  with  the  radiant  light  of  joy  and,  as  her 
friend  took  the  crown  from  her  head,  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"Why  did  you  depart  from  the  banquet  so 
early  ?  Perhaps  it  was  the  last,  but  I  remember 
no  festival  more  brilliant.  It  was  like  the  spring- 
time of  my  love.  Mark  Antony  would  have 
touched  the  heart  of  a  stone  statue  by  that  blend- 
ing of  nianly  daring  and  humble  devotion  which 
no  woman  can  resist.  As  in  former  days,  hours 
shrivelled  into  moments.  We  were  again  young, 
once  more  united.  We  were  together  here  at 
Lochias  to-night,  and  yet  in  distant  years  and 
other  places.  The  notes  of  the  singers,  the  melo- 
dies of  the  musicians,  the  figures  executed  by  the 
dancers,  were  lost  upon  us.  We  soared  back,  hand 
in  hand,  to  a  magic  world,  and  the  fairy  drama  in 
the  realms  of  the  blessed,  which  passed  before  us 
in  dazzling  splendour  and  blissful  joy,  was  the 
dream  which  I  loved  best  when  a  child,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  happiest  portion  of  the  life  of  the 
Queen  of  Egypt. 

"  It  began  before  the  gate  of  the  garden  of 
Epicurus,  and  continued  on  the  river  Cydnus.  I 
again  beheld  myself  on  the  golden  barge,  gar- 
landed with  wreaths  of  flowers,  reclining  on  the 
purple  couch  with  roses  strewn  around  me  and 
beneath  my  jewelled  sandals.  A  gentle  breeze 
swelled  the  silken  sails ;  my  female  companions 
raised  their  clear  voices  in  song  to  the  accompa- 


2IO  CLEOPATRA. 

niment  of  lutes ;  the  perfumes  floating  around  us 
were  borne  by  the  wind  to  the  shore,  conveying 
the  tidings  that  the  bliss  believed  by  mortals  to  be 
reserved  for  the  gods  alone  was  drawing  near. 
And  even  as  his  heart  and  his  enraptured  senses 
yielded  to  my  sway,  his  mind,  as  he  himself  con- 
fessed, was  under  the  thrall  of  mine.  We  both 
felt  happy,  united  by  ties  which  nothing,  not  even 
misfortune,  could  sever.  He,  the  ruler  of  the 
world,  was  conquered,  and  delighted  to  obey  the 
behests  of  the  victor,  because  he  felt  that  she  be- 
fore whom  he  bowed  was  his  own  obedient  slave. 
And  no  magic  goblet  effected  all  this.  I  breathed 
more  freely,  as  if  relieved  from  the  oppressive  de- 
lusion— the  fire  had  consumed  it  also — which  had 
burdened  my  soul  until  a  few  hours  ago.  No 
magic  spell,  only  the  gifts  of  mind  and  soul  which 
the  vanquished  victor,  the  woman  Cleopatra,  owed 
to  the  favour  of  the  immortals,  had  compelled  his 
lofty  manhood  to  yield. 

"  From  the  Cydnus  he  brought  me  hither  to  the 
blissful  days  which  we  were  permitted  to  pass  in 
my  city  of  Alexandria.  A  thousand  sunny  hours, 
musical,  echoing  surges  which  long  since  dashed 
down  the  stream  of  Time,  he  recalled  to  life,  and  I 
— I  did  the  same,  and  our  memories  blended  into 
one.  What  never-to-be-forgotten  moments  we  ex- 
perienced when,  with  reckless  mirth,  we  mingled 
unrecognized  among  the  joyous  throng  !  What 
Olympic  delight  elated  our  hearts  when  the  plaud- 


CLEOPATRA  211 

its  of  thousands  greeted  us !  What  joys  satiated 
our  minds  and  senses  in  our  own  apartments! 
What  pure,  unalloyed  nectar  of  the  soul  was  be- 
stowed upon  us  by  our  children — bliss  which  we 
shared  with  and  imparted  to  each  other  until 
neither  knew  which  was  the  giver  and  which  the 
receiver !  Everything  sad  and  painful  seemed  to 
be  effaced  from  the  book  of  memory ;  and  the 
child's  dream,  the  fairy-tale  woven  by  the  power 
of  imagination,  stood  before  my  soul  as  a  reality — 
the  same  reality,  I  repeat,  which  I  call  my  past 
life. 

"And,  Charmian,  if  death  comes  to-morrow, 
should  I  say  that  he  appeared  too  early — summoned 
me  ere  he  permitted  life  to  bestow  all  its  best  gifts 
upon  me  ?  No,  no,  and  again  no  !  Whoever,  in 
the  last  hour  of  existence,  can  say  that  the  fairest 
dreams  of  childhood  were  surpassed  by  a  long  por- 
tion of  actual  life,  may  consider  himself  happy, 
even  in  the  deepest  need  and  on  the  verge  of  the 
grave. 

"  The  aspiration  to  be  first  and  highest  among 
the  women  of  her  own  time,  which  had  already 
thrilled  the  young  girl's  heart,  was  fulfilled.  The 
ardent  longing  for  love  which,  even  at  that  period, 
pervaded  my  whole  being,  was  satisfied  when  I  be- 
came a  loving  wife,  mother,  and  Queen,  and  friend- 
ship, through  the  favour  of  Destiny,  also  bestowed 
upon  me  its  greatest  blessings  by  the  hands  of 
Archibius,  Charmian,  and  Iras. 


212  .  CLEOPATRA. 

"  Now  I  care  not  what  may  happen.  This  even- 
ing taught  me  that  life  had  fulfilled  its  pledges. 
But  others,  too,  must  be  enabled  to  remember  the 
most  brilliant  of  queens,  who  was  also  the  most 
fervently  beloved  of  women.  For  this  I  will  pro- 
vide :  the  mausoleum  which  Gorgias  is  erecting 
for  me  will  stand  like  an  indestructible  wall  be- 
tween the  Cleopatra  who  to-day  still  proudly  wears 
the  crown  and  her  approaching  humiliation  and 
disgrace. 

"  Now  I  will  go  to  sleep.  If  my  awakening 
brings  defeat,  sorrow,  and  death,  I  have  no  reason 
to  accuse  my  fate.  It  denied  me  one  thing  only  : 
the  painless  peace  which  the  child  and  the  young 
girl  recognized  as  the  chief  good ;  yet  Cleopatra 
will  possess  that  also.  The  domain  of  death,  which, 
as  the  Egyptians  say,  loves  silence,  is  opening  its 
doors  to  me.  The  most  absolute  peace  begins 
upon  its  threshold — who  knows  where  it  ends  ? 
The  vision  of  the  intellect  does  not  extend  far 
enough  to  discover  the  boundary  where,  at  the 
end  of  eternity — which  in  truth  is  endless — it  is 
replaced  by  something  else." 

While  speaking,  the  Queen  had  motioned  to  her 
friend  to  accompany  her  into  her  chamber,  from 
which  a  door  led  into  the  children's  room.  An  ir- 
resistible impulse  constrained  her  to  open  it  and 
gaze  into  the  dark,  empty  apartment. 

She  felt  an  icy  chill  run  through  her  veins.  Tak- 
ing a  light  from  the  hand  of  one  of  the  maids  who 


CLEOPATRA. 


213 


attended  her,  she  went  to  little  Alexander's  couch. 
Like  the  others,  it  was  empty,  deserted.  Her  head 
sank  on  her  breast,  the  courageous  calmness  with 
which  she  had  surveyed  her  whole  past  life  failed 
and,  like  the  luxuriant  riot  in  the  sky  of  the  most 
brilliant  hues,  ere  the  glow  of  sunset  suddenly 
yields  to  darkness,  Cleopatra's  soul,  after  the 
lofty  elation  of  the  last  few  hours,  underwent  a 
sudden  transition  and,  overwhelmed  by  deep,  sor- 
rowful depression,  she  threw  herself  down  before 
the  twins'  bed,  where  she  lay  weeping  softly  until 
Charmian,  as  day  began  to  dawn,  urged  her  to  re- 
tire to  rest.  Cleopatra  slowly  rose,  dried  her  eyes, 
and  said :  "  My  past  life  seemed  to  me  just  now 
like  a  magnificent  garden,  but  how  many  serpents 
suddenly  stretched  out  their  flat  heads  with  glit- 
tering eyes  and  forked  tongues !  Who  tore  away 
the  flowers  beneath  which  they  lay  concealed  ?  I 
think,  Charmian,  it  was  a  mysterious  power  which 
here,  in  the  children's  apartment,  rules  so  strongly 
the  most  trivial  as  well  as  the  strongest  emotions, 
it  was — when  did  I  last  hear  that  ominous  word  ? — 
it  was  conscience.  Here,  in  this  abode  of  inno- 
cence and  purity,  whatever  resembles  a  spot  stands 
forth  distinctly  before  the  eyes.  Here,  O  Char- 
mian ! — if  the  children  were  but  here !  If  I  could 
only — yet,  no,  no  !  It  is  fortunate,  very  fortunate 
that  they  have  gone.  I  must  be  strong;  and  their 
sweet  grace  would  rob  me  of  my  energy.  But  the 
light  grows  brighter  and  brighter.     Dress  me  for 


214 


CLEOPATRA. 


the  day.  It  would  be  easier  for  me  to  sleep  in 
a  falling  house  than  with  such  a  tumult  in  my 
heart." 

While  she  was  being  attired  in  the  dark  robes 
she  had  ordered,  loud  shouts  arose  from  the  royal 
harbour  below,  blended  with  the  blasts  of  the  tuba 
and  other  signals  directing  the  movements  of  the 
fleet  and  the  army,  a  large  body  of  troops  having 
been  marched  during  the  night  to  the  neighbour- 
ing hills  overlooking  the  sea. 

The  notes  sounded  bold  and  warlike.  The 
well-armed  galleys  presented  a  stately  appearance. 
How  often  Cleopatra  had  seen  unexpected  events 
occur,  apparent  impossibilities  become  possible! 
Had  not  the  victory  of  Octavianus  at  Actium  been 
a  miracle  ?  What  if  Fate,  like  a  capricious  ruler, 
now  changed  from  frowns  to  smiles  ?  What  if 
Antony  proved  himself  the  hero  of  yesterday,  the 
general  he  had  been  in  days  of  yore  ? 

She  had  refused  to  see  him  again  before  the 
battle,  that  she  might  not  divert  his  thoughts  from 
the  great  task  approaching.  But  now,  as  she  be- 
held him,  clad  in  glittering  armour  like  the  god  of 
war  himself,  ride  before  the  troops  on  his  fiery 
Barbary  charger,  greeting  them  with  the  gay  salu- 
tation whose  warmth  sprung  from  the  heart  and 
which  had  so  often  kindled  the  warriors  to  glowing 
enthusiasm,  she  was  forced  to  do  violence  to  her 
own  feelings  to  avoid  calling  him  and  saying  that 
her  thoughts  would  follow  his  course.      But    she 


CLEOPATRA.  2 1 5 

refrained,  and  when  his  purple  cloak  vanished 
from  her  sight  her  head  drooped  again.  How- 
different  in  former  days  were  the  cheers  of  the 
troops  when  he  showed  himself  to  them!  This 
lukewarm  response  to  his  gay,  glad  greeting  was 
no  omen  of  victory. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

Dion,  too,  witnessed  the  departure  of  the 
troops.  Gorgias,  whom  he  had  found  among  the 
Ephebi,  accompanied  him  and,  like  the  Queen,  they 
saw,  in  the  cautious  manner  with  which  the  army 
greeted  the  general,  a  bad  omen  for  the  result  of 
the  battle.  The  architect  had  presented  Dion  to 
the  youths  as  the  ghost  of  a  dead  man,  who,  as 
soon  as  he  was  asked  whence  he  came  or  whither 
he  was  going,  would  be  compelled  to  vanish  in  the 
form  of  a  fly.  He  could  venture  to  do  this  ;  he 
knew  the  Ephebi — there  was  no  traitor  in  their 
ranks. 

Dion,  the  former  head  of  the  society,  had  been 
welcomed  like  a  beloved  brother  risen  from  the 
dead,  and  he  had  the  gratification,  after  so  long  a 
time,  of  turning  the  scale  as  speaker  in  a  debate. 
True,  he  had  encountered  very  little  opposition, 
for  the  resolve  to  hold  aloof  from  the  battle  against 
the  Romans  had  been  urged  upon  the  Ephebi  by 
the  Queen  herself  through  Antyllus,  who,  how- 
ever, had  already  left  the  meeting  when  Dion 
joined  it.     It  had  seemed  to  Cleopatra  a  crime  to 


CLEOPATRA.  21/ 

claim  the  blood  of  the  noblest  sons  of  the  city  for 
a  cause  which  she  herself  deemed  lost.  She  knew 
the  parents  of  many,  and  feared  that  Octavianus 
would  inflict  a  terrible  punishment  upon  them  if, 
not  being  enrolled  in  the  army,  they  fell  into  his 
power  with  arms  in  their  hands. 

The  stars  were  already  setting  when  the  Ephe- 
bi  accompanied  their  friend,  singing  in  chorus  the 
Hymenseus,  which  they  had  been  unable  to  chant 
on  his  wedding  day.  The  melody  of  lutes  ac- 
companied the  voices,  and  this  nocturnal  music 
was  the  source  of  the  rumour  that  the  god  Diony- 
sus, to  whom  Mark  Antony  felt  specially  akin, 
and  in  whose  form  he  had  so  often  appeared  to 
the  people,  had  abandoned  him  amid  songs  and 
music.  ♦ 

The  youths  left  Dion  in  front  of  the  Temple  of 
Isis.  Gorgias  alone  remained  with  him.  The  ar- 
chitect led  his  friend  to  the  Queen's  mausoleum 
near  the  sanctuary,  where  men  were  toiling  busily 
by  torchlight.  Alight  scaffolding  still  surrounded 
it,  but  the  lofty  first  story,  containing  the  real 
tomb,  was  completed,  and  Dion  admired  the  art 
with  which  the  exterior  of  the  edifice  suggested 
its  purpose.  Huge  blocks  of  dark-grey  granite 
formed  the  walls.  The  broad  front — solemn,  almost 
gloomy  in  aspect — rose,  sloping  slightly,  above  the 
massive  lofty  door,  surmounted  by  a  moulding 
bearing  the  winged  disk  of  the  sun.  On  either  side 
were   niches    containing    statues   of  Antony   and 


2l8  CLEOPATRA. 

Cleopatra  cast  in  dark  bronze,  and  above  the 
cornice  were  brazen  figures  of  Love  and  Death, 
Fame  and  Silence,  ennobling  the  Egyptian  forms 
with  exquisite  works  of  Hellenic  art. 

The  massive  door,  adorned  with  brass  figures 
in  relief,  would  have  resisted  a  battering-ram.  On 
the  side  of  the  steps  leading  to  it  lay  Sphinxes  of 
dark-green  diorite.  Everything  connected  with 
this  building,  dedicated  to  death,  was  grave  and 
massive,  suggesting  by  its  indestructibility  the  idea 
of  eternity. 

The  second  story  was  not  yet  finished ;  masons 
and  stone-cutters  were  engaged  in  covering  the 
strong  walls  with  dark  serpentine  and  black  mar- 
ble. The  huge  windlass  stood  ready  to  raise  a 
masterpiece  of  Alexandrian  art.  This  was  intend- 
ed for  the  pediment,  and  represented  Venus  Victrix 
with  helmet,  shield,  and  lance,  leading  a  band  of 
winged  gods  of  love,  little  archers  at  whose  head 
Eros  himself  was  discharging  arrows,  and  vic- 
toriously fighting  against  the  three-headed  Cer- 
berus, death,  already  bleeding  from  many  wounds. 

There  was  no  time  to  see  the  interior  of  the 
building,  for  Pyrrhus  expected  his  guest  to  join 
him  at  the  harbour  at  sunrise,  and  the  eastern 
sky  was  already  brightening  with  the  approach  of 
dawn. 

As  the  friends  reached  the  landing-place  the 
brass  dome  of  the  Serapeum,  which  towered  above 
everything,  was  glittering  with  dazzling  splendour. 


CLEOPATRA.  219 

The  pennons  and  masts  of  the  fleet  which  was 
about  to  set  sail  from  the  harbour  seemed  steeped 
in  a  sea  of  golden  light.  Tremulous  reflections  of 
the  brazen  and  gilded  figures  on  the  prows  of  the 
vessels  were  mirrored  in  the  undulating  surface 
of  the  sea,  and  the  long  shadows  of  the  banks  of 
oars  united  galley  after  galley  on  the  surface  of 
the  water  like  the  meshes  of  a  net. 

Here  the  friends  parted,  and  Dion  walked  down 
the  quay  alone  to  meet  the  freedman,  who  must 
have  found  it  difficult  to  guide  his  boat  out  of  this 
labyrinth  of  vessels.  The  inspection  of  the  mau- 
soleum had  detained  the  young  father  too  long 
and,  though  disguised  beyond  recognition,  he  re- 
proached himself  for  having  recklessly  incurred  a 
danger  whose  consequences — he  felt  this  to-day  for 
the  first  time — would  not  injure  himself  alone. 
The  whole  fleet  was  awaiting  the  signal  for  de- 
parture. The  vessels  which  did  not  belong  to  it 
had  been  obliged  to  moor  in  front  of  the  Temple 
of  Poseidon,  and  all  were  strictly  forbidden  to 
leave  the  anchorage. 

Pyrrhus's  fishing-boat  was  in  the  midst,  and 
return  to  the  Serpent  Island  was  impossible  at 
present. 

How  vexatious!  Barine  was  ignorant  of  his 
trip  to  the  city,  and  to  be  compelled  to  leave  her 
alone  while  a  naval  battle  was  in  progress  directly 
before  her  eyes  distressed  him  as  much  as  it  could 
not  fail  to  alarm  her. 


220^  CLEOPATRA. 

In  fact,  the  young  mother  had  waited  from 
early  dawn  with  increasing  anxiety  for  her  hus- 
band. As  the  sun  rose  higher,  and  the  strokes  of 
the  oars  propelling  two  hundred  galleys,  the  shrill 
whistle  of  the  flutes  marking  the  time,  the  deep 
voices  of  the  captains  shouting  orders,  and  the 
blasts  of  the  trumpets  filling  the  air,  were  heard  far 
and  near  around  the  island,  she  became  so  over- 
whelmed with  uneasiness  that  she  insisted  upon 
going  to  the  shore,  though  hitherto  she  had  not 
been  permitted  to  take  the  air  except  under  the 
awning  stretched  for  the  purpose  on  the  shady  side 
of  the  house. 

In  vain  the  women  urged  her  not  to  let  her 
fears  gain  the  mastery  and  to  have  patience.  But 
she  would  have  resisted  even  force  in  order  to  look 
for  him  who,  with  her  child,  now  comprised  her 
world. 

When,  leaning  on  Helena's  arm,  she  reached 
the  shore,  no  boat  was  in  sight.  The  sea  was  cov- 
ered with  ships  of  war,  floating  fortresses,  moving 
onward  like  dragons  with  a  thousand  legs  whose 
feet  were  the  countless  rowers  arranged  in  three 
or  five  sets.  Each  of  the  larger  galleys  was  sur- 
rounded by  smaller  ones,  from  most  of  which 
darted  dazzling  flashes  of  light,  for  they  were 
crowded  with  armed  men,  and  from  the  prows  of 
the  strong  boarding  vessels  the  sunbeams  glittered 
on  the  large  shining  metal  points  whose  office  was 
to  pierce  the  wooden  sides  of  the  foe.     The  gilded 


CLEOPATRA.  221 

statues  in  the  prows  of  the  large  galleys  shone  and 
sparkled  in  the  broad  radiance  of  the  day-star,  and 
flashes  of  light  also  came  from  the  low  hills  on  the 
shore.  Here  Mark  Antony's  soldiers  were  sta- 
tioned, and  the  sunbeams  reflected  from  the  hel- 
mets, coats  of  mail,  and  lance-heads  of  the  infan- 
try, and  the  armour  of  the  horsemen  quivered  with 
dazzling  brilliancy  in  the  hot  air  of  the  first  day  of 
an  Egyptian  August. 

Amid  this  blazing,  flashing,  and  sparkling  in  the 
morning  air,  so  steeped  in  warmth  and  radiance,  the 
sounds  of  warlike  preparations  from  the  land  and 
fleet  constantly  grew  louder.  Barine,  exhausted, 
had  just  sunk  into  a  chair  which  Dione,  the  fisher- 
man's daughter,  had  placed  in  the  shade  of  the 
highest  rock  on  the  northwestern  shore  of  the 
flat  island,  when  a  crashing  blast  of  the  tuba  sud- 
denly echoed  from  all  the  galleys  in  the  Egyptian 
fleet,  and  the  whole  array  of  vessels  filed  past  the 
Pharos  at  the  opening  of  the  harbour  into  the 
open  sea. 

There  the  narrow  ranks  of  the  wooden  giants 
separated  and  moved  onward  in  broader  lines. 
This  was  done  quietly  and  in  the  same  faultless 
order  as  a  few  days  before,  when  a  similar  ma- 
noeuvre had  been  executed  under  the  eyes  of  Mark 
Antony. 

The  longing  for  combat  seemed  to  urge  them 
steadily  forward. 

The  hostile  fleet,  lying  motionless,  awaited  the 
35 


222  CLEOPATRA. 

attack.  But  the  Egyptian  assailants  had  advanced 
majestically  only  a  few  ships'  lengths  towards  the 
Roman  foe  when  another  signal  rent  the  air.  The 
women  whose  ears  caught  the  waves  of  sound  said 
afterwards  that  it  seemed  like  a  cry  of  agony — it 
had  given  the  signal  for  a  deed  of  unequalled 
treachery.  The  slaves,  criminals,  and  the  basest 
of  the  mercenaries  on  the  rowers'  benches  in  the 
hold  had  doubtless  long  listened  intently  for  it, 
and,  when  it  finally  came,  the  men  on  the  upper 
benches  raised  their  long  oars  and  held  them  aloft, 
which  stopped  the  work  of  those  below,  and  every 
galley  paused,  pointing  at  the  next  with  the  wooden 
oars  outstretched  like  fingers,  as  if  seized  with  hor- 
ror. The  celerity  and  faultless  order  with  which 
the  raising  of  the  oars  was  executed  and  vessel 
after  vessel  brought  to  a  stand  would  have  been 
a  credit  to  an  honourable  captain,  but  the  ma- 
noeuvre introduced  one  of  the  basest  acts  ever 
recorded  in  history ;  and  the  women,  who  had 
witnessed  many  a  naumachia  and  understood  its 
meaning,  exclaimed  as  if  with  a  single  voice : 
"  Treachery  !  They  are  going  over  to  the 
enemy  !  " 

Maik  Antony's  fleet,  created  for  him  by  Cleo- 
patra, surrendered,  down  to  the  last  galley,  to 
Caesar's  heir,  the  victor  of  Actium;  and  the  man  to 
whom  the  sailors  had  vowed  allegiance,  who  had 
drilled  them,  and  only  yesterday  had  urged  them 
to  offer  a  gallant  resistance,  saw  from  one  of  the 


CLEOPATRA. 


223 


downs  on  the  shore  the  strong  weapons  on  which 
he  had  based  the  fairest  hopes,  not  shattered,  but 
delivered  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  ! 

The  surrender  of  the  fleet  to  the  foe — he  knew 
it — sealed  his  destruction ;  and  the  women  on  the 
shore  of  the  Serpent  Island,  who  were  so  closely 
connected  with  those  on  whom  this  misfortune 
fell,  suspected  the  same  thing.  The  hearts  of  both 
were  stirred,  and  their^eyes  grew  dim  with  tears  of 
indignation  and  sorrow.  They  were  Alexandrians, 
and  did  not  desire  to  be  ruled  by  Rome. 

Cleopatra,  daughter  of  the  Macedonian  house 
of  the  Ptolemies,  had  the  sole  right  to  govern  the 
city  of  her  ancestors,  founded  by  the  great  Mace- 
donian. The  sorrow  they  had  themselves  endured 
through  her  sank  into  insignificance  beside  the  tre- 
mendous blow  of  Fate  which  in  this  hour  reached 
the  Queen. 

The  Roman  and  Egyptian  fleet  returned  to  the 
harbour  as  one  vast  squadron  under  the  same  com- 
mander, and  anchored  in  the  roadstead  of  the  city, 
which  was  now  its  precious  booty. 

Barine  had  seen  enough,  and  returned  to  the 
house  with  drooping  head.  Her  heart  was  heavy, 
and  her  anxiety  for  the  man  she  loved  hourly  in- 
creased. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  very  day-star  shrank  from 
illuminating  so  infamous  a  deed  with  friendly 
light ;  for  the  dazzling,  searching  sun  of  the  first 
of  August  veiled  its  radiant  face  with  a  greyish- 


224 


CLEOPATRA. 


white  mist,  and  the  desecrated  sea  wrinkled  its 
brow,  changed  its  pure  azure  robe  to  yellowish 
grey  and  blackish  green,  while  the  white  foam 
hissed  on  the  crests  of  the  angry  waves. 

As  twilight  began  to  approach,  the  anxiety  of 
the  deserted  wife  became  unendurable.  Not  only 
Helena's  wise  words  of  caution,  but  the  sight  of 
her  child,  failed  to  exert  their  usual  influence;  and 
Barine  had  already  summoned  the  son  of  Pyrrhus 
to  persuade  him  to  take  her  in  his  boat  to  the  city, 
when  Dione  saw  a  boat  approaching  the  Serpent 
Island  from  the  direction  of  the  sea. 

A  short  time  after,  Dion  sprang  on  shore  and 
kissed  from  his  young  wife's  lips  the  reproaches 
with  which  she  greeted  him. 

He  had  heard  of  the  treachery  of  the  fleet 
while  entering  a  hired  boat  with  the  freedman  in 
the  harbour  of  Eunostus,  Pyrrhus's  having  been 
detained  with  the  other  craft  before  the  Temple 
of  Poseidon. 

The  experienced  pilot  had  been  obliged  to  steer 
the  boat  in  a  wider  curve  against  the  wind  through 
the  open  sea,  and  was  delayed  a  long  time  by  a 
number  of  the  war  vessels  of  the  fleet. 

Danger  and  separation  were  now  passed,  and 
they  rejoiced  in  the  happiness  of  meeting,  yet 
could  not  feel  genuine  joy.  Their  souls  were  op- 
pressed by  anxiety  concerning  the  fate  of  the 
Queen  and  their  native  city. 

As  night  closed  in  the  dogs  barked  violently, 


CLEOPATRA. 


225 


and  they  heard  loud  voices  on  the  shore.  Dion, 
with  a  presentiment  that  misfortune  was  threat- 
ening himself  and  his  dear  ones,  obeyed  the 
summons. 

No  star  illumined  the  darkness.  Only  the  wa- 
vering light  of  a  lantern  on  the  strand  and  another 
on  the  nearest  island  illumined  the  immediate  vicin- 
ity, while  southward  the  lights  in  the  city  shone  as 
brightly  as  ever. 

Pyrrhus  and  his  youngest  son  were  just  push- 
ing a  boat  into  the  water  to  release  from  the  sands 
another  which  had  run  aground  in  a  shallow  near 
the  neighbouring  island. 

Dion  sprang  in  with  them,  and  soon  recog- 
nized in  the  hail  the  voice  of  the  architect 
Gorgias. 

The  young  father  shouted  a  joyous  greeting  to 
his  friend,  but  there  was  no  reply. 

Soon  after,  Pyrrhus  landed  his  belated  guest  on 
the  shore.  He  had  escaped — as  the  fisherman  ex- 
plained— a  great  danger  ;  for  had  he  gone  to  the 
other  island,  which  swarmed  with  venomous  ser- 
pents, he  might  easily  have  fallen  a  victim  to  the 
bite  of  one  of  the  reptiles. 

Gorgias  grasped  Dion's  hand  but,  in  reply  to 
his  gay  invitation  to  accompany  him  to  the  house 
at  once,  he  begged  him  to  listen  to  his  story  before 
joining  the  ladies. 

Dion  was  startled.  He  knew  his  friend.  When 
his  deep  voice  had  such  a  tone  of  gloomy  discour- 


226  CLEOPATRA. 

agement,  and  his  head  drooped  so  mournfully,  some 
terrible  event  had  befallen  him. 

His   foreboding    had    been    correct.     The   first 
tidings  pierced  his  own  soul  deeply. 

He  was  not  surprised  to  learn  that  the  Romans 
ruled  Alexandria ;  but  a  small  band  of  the  con- 
querors, who  had  been  ordered  to  conduct  them- 
selves as  if  they  were  in  a  friendly  country,  had 
forced  their  way  into  the  architect's  large  house  to 
occupy  the  quarters  assigned  to  them.  The  deaf 
grandmother  of  Helena  and  Barine,  who  had  but 
half  comprehended  what  threatened  the  citizens, 
terrified  by  the  noisy  entrance  of  the  soldiers,  had 
had  another  attack  of  apoplexy,  and  closed  her 
eyes  in  death  before  Gorgias  set  out  for  the 
island. 

But  it  was  not  only  this  sad  event,  which  must 
grieve  the  hearts  of  the  two  sisters,  that  had 
brought  the  architect  in  a  stranger's  boat  to  the 
Serpent  Island  at  so  late  an  hour.  His  soul  was 
so  agitated  by  the  horrible  incidents  of  the  day 
that  he  needed  to  seek  consolation  among  those 
from  whom  he  was  sure  to  find  sympathy. 

Nor  was  it  wholly  the  terrible  things  Fate  had 
compelled  him  to  witness  which  induced  him  to 
venture  out  upon  the  sea  so  recklessly,  but  still 
more  the  desire  to  bring  to  the  fugitives  the  happy 
news  that  they  might  return  with  safety  to  their 
native  city. 

Deeply  agitated — nay,  confused  and  overpow- 


CLEOPATRA. 


227 


ered  by  all  he  had  seen  and  experienced — the 
architect,  usually  so  clear  and,  with  all  his  mental 
vivacity,  so  circumspect,  began  his  story.  A  re- 
monstrance from  Dion  induced  him  to  collect  his 
thoughts  and  describe  events  in  the  order  in  which 
they  had  befallen  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

After  accompanying  Dion  to  the  harbour,  the 
architect  had  gone  to  the  Forum  to  converse  with 
the  men  he  met  there,  and  learn  what  they  feared 
and  expected  in  regard  to  the  future  fate  of  the 
city. 

All  news  reached  this  meeting-place  first,  and 
he  found  a  large  number  of  Macedonian  citizens 
who,  like  himself,  wished  to  discuss  passing  events 
in  these  decisive  hours. 

The  scene  was  very  animated,  for  the  most  con- 
tradictory messages  were  constantly  arriving  from 
the  fleet  and  the  army. 

At  first  they  were  very  favourable  ;  then  came 
the  news  of  the  treason,  and  soon  after  of  the  de- 
sertion of  the  cavalry  and  foot  soldiers. 

A  distinguished  citizen  had  seen  Mark  Antony, 
accompanied  by  several  friends,  dashing  down  the 
quay.  The  goal  of  their  flight  was  the  little  palace 
on  the  Choma. 

Grave  men,  whose  opinion  met  with  little  op- 
position, thought  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  Im- 
perator — now  that  Fate  had  decided  against  him, 


CLEOPATRA. 


229 


and  nothing  remained  save  a  life  sullied  by  dis- 
grace— to  put  himself  to  death  with  his  own  hand, 
like  Brutus  and  so  many  other  noble  Romans. 
Tidings  soon  came  that  he  had  attempted  to  do 
what  the  best  citizens  expected. 

Gorgias  could  not  endure  to  remain  longer  in 
the  Forum,  but  hastened  to  the  Choma,  though  it 
was  difficult  to  force  his  way  to  the  wall,  where  a 
breach  had  been  made.  He  had  found  the  portion 
of  the  shore  from  which  the  promontory  ran  densely 
crowded  with  people — from  whom  he  learned  that 
Antony  was  no  longer  in  the  palace — and  the  sea 
filled  with  boats. 

A  corpse  was  just  being  borne  out  of  the  little 
palace  on  the  Street  of  the  King  and,  among  those 
who  followed,  Gorgias  recognized  one  of  Antony's 
slaves.  The  man's  eyes  were  red  with  weeping. 
He  readily  obeyed  the  architect's  sign  and,  sob- 
bing bitterly,  told  him  that  the  hapless  general, 
after  his  army  had  betrayed  him,  fled  hither. 
When  he  heard  in  the  palace  that  Cleopatra  had 
preceded  him  to  Hades,  he  ordered  his  body- 
slave  Eros  to  put  an  end  to  his  life  also.  The 
worthy  man  drew  back,  pierced  his  own  breast  with 
his  sword,  and  sank  dying  at  his  master's  feet ;  but 
Antony,  exclaiming  that  Eros's  example  had  taught 
him  his  duty,  thrust  the  short  sword  into  his  breast 
with  his  own  hand.  Yet  deep  and  severe  as  was 
the  wound,  it  did  not  destroy  the  tremendous 
vitality  of   the  gigantic  Roman.     With    touching 


230 


CLEOPATRA. 


entreaties  he  implored  the  bystanders  to  kill  him, 
but  no  one  could  bring  himself  to  commit  the  deed. 
Meanwhile  Cleopatra's  name,  cpupled  with  the 
wish  to  follow  her,  was  constantly  on  the  lips  of 
the  Imperator. 

At  last  Diomedes,  the  Queen's  private  secre- 
tary, appeared,  to  bring  him,  by  her  orders,  to  the 
mausoleum  where  she  had  taken  refuge. 

Antony,  as  if  animated  with  fresh  vigour,  as- 
sented, and  while  being  carried  thither  gave  orders 
that  Eros  should  have  a  worthy  burial.  Even 
though  dying,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
the  most  generous  of  masters  to  permit  any  kind- 
ness rendered  to  pass  unrequited. 

The  slave  again  wept  aloud  as  he  uttered  the 
words,  but  Gorgias  hastened  at  once  to  the  tomb. 

The  nearest  way,  the  Street  of  the  King,  had 
become  so  crowded  with  people  who  had  been 
forced  back  by  Roman  soldiers,  between  the  The- 
atre of  Dionysus  and  the  Corner  of  the  Muses, 
that  he  had  been  compelled  to  reach  the  building 
through  a  side  street. 

The  quay  was  already  unrecognizable,  and  even 
in  the  other  streets  the  populace  showed  a  foreign 
aspect.  Instead  of  peaceful  citizens,  Roman  sol- 
diers in  full  armour  were  met  everywhere.  Instead 
of  Greek,  Egyptian,  and  Syrian  faces,  fair  and  dark 
visages  of  alien  appearance  were  seen. 

The  city  seemed  transformed  into  a  camp. 
Here  he  met    a   cohort  of   fair-haired   Germans ; 


CLEOPATRA. 


231 


yonder  another  with  locks  of  red  whose  home  he 
did  not  know  ;  and  again  a  vexil  of  Numidian  or 
Pannonian  horsemen. 

At  the  Temple  of  the  Dioscuri  he  was  stopped. 
A  Hispanian  maniple  had  just  seized  Antony's 
son  Antyllus  and,  after  a  hasty  court-martial,  killed 
him.  His  tutor,  Theodotus,  had  betrayed  him  to 
the  Romans,  but  the  infamous  fellow  was  being  led 
with  bound  hands  after  the  corpse  of  the  hapless 
youth,  because  he  was  caught  in  the  act  of  hiding 
in  his  girdle  a  costly  jewel  which  he  had  taken 
from  his  neck.  Before  his  departure  for  the  island 
Gorgias  heard  that  the  scoundrel  had  been  sen- 
tenced to  crucifixion. 

At  last  he  succeeded  in  forcing  a  passage  to  the 
tomb,  which  he  found  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
Roman  lictors  and  the  Scythian  guards  of  the  city, 
who,  however,  permitted  him,  as  the  architect,  to 
pass. 

The  numerous  obstacles  by  which  he  had  been 
delayed  spared  him  from  becoming  an  eye-witness 
of  the  most  terrible  scenes  of  the  tragedy  which 
had  just  ended  ;  but  he  received  a  minute  descrip- 
tion from  the  Queen's  private  secretary,  a  well- 
disposed  Macedonian,  who  had  accompanied  the 
wounded  Antony,  and  with  whom  Gorgias  had  be- 
come intimately  acquainted  during  the  building  of 
the  mausoleum. 

Cleopatra  had  fled  to  the  tomb  as  soon  as  the 
fortune  of  war  turned  in  favour  of  Octavianus.    No 


232 


CLEOPATRA. 


one  was  permitted  to  accompany  her  except  Char- 
mian  and  Iras,  who  had  helped  her  close  the  heavy- 
brazen  door  of  the  massive  building.  The  false 
report  of  her  death,  which  had  induced  Antony 
to  put  an  end  to  his  life,  had  perhaps  arisen  from 
the  fact  that  the  Queen  was  literally  in  the  tomb. 

When,  borne  in  the  arms  of  his  faithful  servants, 
he  reached  the  mausoleum,  mortally  wounded,  the 
Queen  and  her  attendants  vainly  endeavoured  to 
open  the  heavy  brazen  portal.  But  Cleopatra  ar- 
dently longed  to  see  her  dying  lover.  She  wished 
to  have  him  near  to  render  the  last  services,  assure 
him  once  more  of  her  devotion,  close  his  eyes,  and, 
if  it  was  so  ordered,  die  with  him. 

So  she  and  her  attendants  had  searched  the 
place,  and  when  Iras  spoke  of  the  windlass  which 
stood  on  the  scaffold  to  raise  the  heavy  brass  plate 
bearing  the  bas-relief  of  Love  conquering  Death, 
the  Queen  and  her  friends  hastened  up  the  stairs, 
the  bearer  below  fastened  the  wounded  ma^  to 
the  rope,  and  Cleopatra  herself  stood  at  the  wind- 
lass to  raise  him,  aided  by  her  faithful  compan- 
ions. 

Diomedes  averred  that  he  had  never  beheld  a 
more  piteous  spectacle  than  the  gigantic  man  hov- 
ering between  heaven  and  earth  in  the  agonies  of 
death  and,  while  suffering  the  most  terrible  torture, 
extending  his  arms  longingly  towards  the  woman  he 
loved.  Though  scarcely  able  to  speak,  he  tenderly 
called  her  name,  but  she  made  no  reply  ;  like  Iras 


CLEOPATRA.  233 

and  Charmian,  she  was  exerting  her  whole  strength 
at  the  windlass  in  the  most  passionate  effort  to 
raise  him.  The  rope  running  over  the  pulley  cut 
her  tender  hands  ;  her  beautiful  face  was  terribly 
distorted  ;  but  she  did  not  pause  until  they  had 
succeeded  in  lifting  the  burden  of  the  dying  man 
higher  and  higher  till  he  reached  the  floor  of  the 
s'caffolding.  The  frantic  exertion  by  which  the 
three  women  had  succeeded  in  accomplishing  an 
act  far  beyond  their  strength,  though  it  was  doubled 
by  the  power  of  the  most  earnest  will  and  ardent 
longing,  would  nevertheless  have  failed  in  attaining 
its  object  had  not  Diomedes,  at  the  last  moment, 
come  to  their  assistance.  He  was  a  strong  man, 
and  by  his  aid  the  dying  Roman  was  seized,  drawn 
upon  the  scaffolding,  and  carried  down  the  staircase 
to  the  tomb  in  the  first  story. 

When  the  wounded  general  had  been  laid  on 
one  of  the  couches  with  which  the  great  hall  was 
already  furnished,  the  private  secretary  retired,  but 
remained  on  the  staircase,  an  unnoticed  spectator, 
in  order  to  be  at  hand  in  case  the  Queen  again 
needed  his  assistance.  Flushed  from  the  terrible 
exertion  which  she  had  just  made,  with  tangled, 
dishevelled  locks,  gasping  and  moaning,  Cleopatra, 
as  if  out  of  her  senses,  tore  open  her  robe,  beat 
her  breast,  and  lacerated  it  with  her  nails.  Then, 
pressing  her  own  beautiful  face  on  her  lover's 
wound  to  stanch  the  flowing  blood,  she  lavished 
upon  him  all  the  endearing  names  which  she  had 


234  CLEOPATRA. 

bestowed  on  the  dying  man  in  the  springtime  of 
their  love. 

His  terrible  suffering  made  her  forget  her  own 
and  the  sad  fate  impending.  Tears  of  pity  fell 
like  the  refreshing  drops  of  a  shower  upon  the  still 
unwithered  blossoms  of  their  love,  and  brought 
those  which,  during  the  preceding  night,  had  re- 
vived anew,  to  their  last  magnificent  unfolding. 

Boundless,  limitless  as  her  former  passion  for 
this  man,  was  now  the  grief  with  which  his  agoniz- 
ing death  filled  her  heart. 

All  that  Mark  Antony  had  been  to  her  in  the 
heyday  of  life,  all  their  mutual  experiences,  all 
that  each  had  received  from  the  other,  had  re- 
turned to  her  memory  in  clear  and  vivid  hues  dur- 
ing the  banquet  which  had  closed  a  few  hours  ago. 
Now  these  scenes,  condensed  into  a  narrow  com- 
pass, again  passed  before  her  mental  vision,  but 
only  to  reveal  more  distinctly  the  depth  of  misery 
of  this  hour.  At  last  anguish  forced  even  the 
clearest  memories  into  oblivion :  she  saw  nothing 
save  the  tortures  of  her  lover ;  her  brain,  still 
active,  revealed  solely  the  gulf  at  her  feet,  and  the 
tomb  which  yawned  not  only  for  Antony,  but  for 
herself. 

Unable  to.  think  of  the  happiness  enjoyed  in 
the  past  or  to  hope  for  it  in  the  future,  she  gave 
herself  up  to  uncontrolled  despair,  and  no  woman 
of  the  people  could  have  yielded  more  absolutely 
to  the  consuming  grief  which  rent  her  heart,  or  ex- 


CLEOPATRA.  235 

pressed  it  in  wilder,  more  frantic  language,  than 
did  this  great  Queen,  this  woman  who  as  a  child 
had  been  so  sensitive  to  the  slightest  suffering,  and 
whose  after-life  had  certainly  not  taught  her  to 
bear  sorrow  with  patience.  After  Charmian,  at 
the  dying  man's  request,  had  given  him  some  wine, 
he  found  strength  to  speak  coherently,  instead  of 
moaning  and  sighing. 

He  tenderly  urged  Cleopatra  to  secure  her  own 
safety,  if  it  could  be  done  without  dishonour,  and 
mentioned  Proculejus  as  the  man  most  worthy  of 
her  confidence  among  the  friends  of  Octavianus. 
Then  he  entreated  her  not  to  mourn  for  him,  but 
to  consider  him  happy;  for  he  had  enjoyed  the 
richest  favours  of  Fortune.  He  owed  his  brightest 
hours  to  her  love;  but  he  had  also  been  the  first 
and  most  powerful  man  on  earth.  Now  he  was 
dying  in  the  arms  of  Love,  honourable  as  a  Roman 
who  succumbed  to  Romans. 

In  this  conviction  he  died  after  a  short  strug- 
gle. 

Cleopatra  had  watched  his  last  breath,  closed 
his  eyes,  and  then  thrown  herself  tearlessly  on  her 
lover's  body.  At  last  she  fainted,  and  lay  uncon- 
scious with  her  head  upon  his  marble  breast. 

The  private  secretary  had  witnessed  all  this, 
and  then  returned  with  tearful  eyes  to  the  second 
story.  There  he  met  Gorgias,  who  had  climbed 
the  scaffolding,  and  told  him  what  he  had  seen  and 
heard  from  the  stairs.     But  his  story  was  scarcely 


236 


CLEOPATRA. 


ended  when  a  carriage  stopped  at  the  Corner  of 
the  Muses  and  an  aristocratic  Roman  alighted. 

This  was  the  very  Proculejus  whom  the  dying 
Antony  had  recommended  to  the  woman  he  loved 
as  worthy  of  her  confidence. 

**  In  fact,"  Gojgias  continued,  ''  he  seemed  in 
form  and  features  one  of  the  noblest  of  his  haughty 
race.  He  came  commissioned  by  Octavianus,  and 
is  said  to  be  warmly  devoted  to  the  Caesar,  and  a 
well-disposed  man.  We  have  also  heard  him  men- 
tioned as  a  poet  and  a  brother-in-law  of  Maecenas. 
A  wealthy  aristocrat,  he  is  a  generous  patron  of 
literature,  and  also  holds  art  and  science  in  high 
esteem.  Timagenes  lauds  his  culture  and  noble 
nature.  Perhaps  the  historian  was  right;  but 
where  the  object  in  question  is  the  state  and  its  ad- 
vantage, what  we  here  regard  as  worthy  of  a  free 
man  appears  to  be  considered  of  little  moment  at 
the  court  of  Octavianus.  The  lord  to  whom  he 
gives  his  services  intrusted  him  with  a  difficult 
task,  and  Proculejus  doubtless  considered  it  his 
duty   to    make  every   effort   to   perform   it — and 

yet If  I  see  aright,  a  day  will  come  when  he 

will  curse  this,  and  the  obedience  with  which  he, 
a  free  man,  aided  Caesar But  listen. 

"  Erect  and  haughty  in  his  splendid  suit  of 
armour,  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  tomb. 
Cleopatra  had  regained  consciousness  and  asked — 
she  must  have  known  him  in  Rome — what  he  de- 
sired. 


CLEOPATRA.  ,  237 

"  He  had  come,  he  answered  courteously,  by 
the  command  of  Octavianus,  to  negotiate  with  her, 
and  the  Queen  expressed  her  willingness  to  listen, 
but  refused  to  admit  him  into  the  mausoleum. 

"  So  they  talked  with  each  other  through  the 
door.  With  dignified  composure,  she  asked  to  have 
the  sons  whom  she  had  given  to  Antony — not  Cae- 
sarion — acknowledged  as  Kings  of  Egypt. 

"Proculejus  instantly  promised  to  convey  her 
wishes  to  Caesar,  and  gave  hopes  of  their  fulfil- 
ment. 

"  While  she  was  speaking  of  the  children  and 
their  claims — she  did  not  mention  her  own  future 
— the  Roman  questioned  her  about  Mark  Antony's 
death,  and  then  described  the  destruction  of  the 
dead  man's  army  and  other  matters  of  trivial  im- 
portance. Proculejus  did  not  look  like  a  babbler, 
but  I  felt  a  suspicion  that  he  was  intentionally 
trying  to  hold  the  attention  of  the  Queen.  This 
proved  to  be  his  design ;  he  had  been  merely  wait- 
ing for  Cornelius  Gallus,  the  commander  of  the 
fleet,  of  whom  you  have  heard.  He,  too,  ranks 
among  the  chief  men  in  Rome,  and  yet  he  made 
himself  the  accomplice  of  Proculejus. 

"  The  latter  retired  as  soon  as  he  had  presented 
the  new-comer  to  the  hapless  woman. 

"  I  remained  at  my  post  and  now  heard  Gallus 

assure  Cleopatra  of  his  master's  sympathy.     With 

the  most  bombastic  exaggeration  he  described  how 

bitterly  Octavianus  mourned  in  Mark  Antony  the 

36 


238 


CLEOPATRA. 


friend,  the  brother-in-law,  the  co-ruler  and  sharer 
in  so  many  important  enterprises.  He  had  shed 
burning  tears  over  the  tidings  of. his  death.  Never 
had  more  sincere  ones  coursed  down  any  man's 
cheeks. 

"  Gallus,  too,  seemed  to  me  to  be  intentionally 
prolonging  the  conversation. 

"  Then,  while  I  was  listening  intently  to  under- 
stand Cleopatra's  brief  replies,  my  foreman,  who, 
when  the  workmen  were  driven  away  by  the  Ro- 
mans, had  concealed  himself  between  two  blocks 
of  granite,  came  to  me  and  said  that  Proculejus 
had  just  climbed  a  ladder  to  the  scaffold  in  the 
rear  of  the  monument.  Two  servants  followed, 
and  they  had  all  stolen  down  into  the  hall. 

"  I  hastily  started  up.  I  had  been  lying  on  the 
floor  with  my  head  outstretched  to  listen. 

"  Cost  what  it  might,  the  Queen  must  be  warned. 
Treachery  was  certainly  at  work  here. 

"  But  I  came  too  late. 

"  O  Dion  !  If  I  had  only  been  informed  a  few 
minutes  before,  perhaps  something  still  more  ter- 
rible might  have  happened,  but  the  Queen  would 
have  been  spared  what  now  threatens  her.  What 
can  she  expect  from  the  conqueror  who,  in  order 
to  seize  her  alive,  condescends  to  outwit  a  noble, 
defenceless  woman,  who  has  succumbed  to  superior 
power  ? 

"  Death  would  have  released  the  unhappy  Queen 
from  sore  trouble  and  horrible  shame.     And  she 


CLEOPATRA. 


239 


had  already  raised  the  dagger  against  her  life. 
Before  my  eyes  she  flung  aloft  her  beautiful  arm 
with  the  flashing  steel,  which  glittered  in  the  light 
of  the  candles  in  the  many-branched  candelabra 
beside  the  sarcophagi.  But  I  will  try  to  remain 
calm !  You  shall  hear  what  happened  in  regular 
order.  My  thoughts  grow  confused  as  the  terrible 
scene  recurs  to  my  memory.  To  describe  it  as  I 
saw  it,  I  should  need  to  be  a  poet,  an  artist  in 
words ;  for  what  passed  before  me  happened  on  a 
stage — you  know,  it  was  a  tomb.  The  walls  were 
of  dark  stone — dark,  too,  were  the  pillars  and  ceil- 
ing— all  dark  and  glittering;  most  portions  were 
smoothly  polished  stone,  shining  like  a  mirror. 
Near  the  sarcophagi,  and  around  the  candelabra  as 
far  as  the  vicinity  of  the  door,  where  the  rascally 
trick  was  played,  the  light  was  brilliant  as  in  a 
festal  hall.  Every  blood-stain  on  the  hand,  every 
scratch,  every  wound  which  the  desperate  woman 
had  torn  with  her  own  nails  on  her  bosom,  which 
gleamed  snow-white  from  her  black  robes,  was  dis- 
tinctly visible.  Farther  away,  on  the  right  and 
left,  the  light  was  dim,  and  near  the  side  walls  the 
darkness  was  as  intense  as  in  a  real  tomb.  On 
the  smooth  porphyry  columns,  the  glittering  black 
marble  and  serpentine — here,  there,  and  everywhere 
— flickered  the  wavering  reflection  of  the  candle- 
light. The  draught  kept  it  continually  in  motion, 
and  it  wavered  to  and  fro  in  the  hall,  like  the  rest- 
less souls  of  the  damned.    Wherever  the  eye  turned 


240  CLEOPATRA. 

it  met  darkness.  The  end  of  the  hall  seemed 
black — black  as  the  anteroom  of  Hades — yet 
through  it  pierced  a  brilliant  moving  bar ;  sun- 
beams which  streamed  from  the  stairway  into  the 
tomb  and  amid  which  danced  tiny  motes.  How 
the  scene  impressed  the  eye  !  The  home  of  gloomy 
Hecate !  And  the  Queen  and  her  impending  fate  ! 
A  picture  flooded  with  light,  standing  forth  in 
radiant  relief  against  the  darkness  of  the  heavy, 
majestic  forms  surrounding  it  in  a  wide  circle. 
This  tomb  in  this  light  would  be  a  palace  meet  for 
the  gloomy  rule  of  the  king  of  the  troop  of  demons 
conjured  up  by  the  power  of  a  magician — if  they 
have  a  ruler.  But  where  am  I  wandering  ?  ^The 
artist ! '  I  hear  you  exclaim  again,  *  the  artist ! 
Instead  of  rushing  forward  and  interposing,  he 
stands  studying  the  light  and  its  effects  in  the 
royal  tomb.'  Yes,  yes ;  I  had  come  too  late,  too 
late — far  too  late !  On  the  stairs  leading  to  the 
lower  story  of  the  building  I  saw  it,  but  I  was  not 
to  blame  for  the  delay — not  in  the  least ! 

"  At  first  I  had  been  unable  to  see  the  men — or 
even  a  shadow ;  but  I  beheld  plainly  in  the  bright- 
est glare  of  the  light  the  body  of  Mark  Antony  on 
the  couch  and,  in  the  dusk  farther  towards  the 
right,  Iras  and  Charmian  trying  to  raise  a  trap- 
door. It  was  the  one  which  closed  the  passage 
leading  to  the  combustible  materials  stored  in  the 
cellar.  A  sign  from  the  Queen  had  commanded 
them  to  fire  it.     The  first  steps  of  the  staircase, 


CLEOPATRA.  24 1 

down  which  I  was  hastening,  were  already  behind 
me — then — then  Proculejus,  with  two  men,  sud- 
denly dashed  from  the  intense  darkness  on  the 
other  side.  Scarcely  able  to  control  myself,  I 
sprang  down  the  remaining  steps,  and  while  Iras's 
shrill  cry,  *  Poor  Cleopatra,  they  will  capture  you!' 
still  rang  in  my  ears,  I  saw  the  betrayed  Queen 
turn  from  the  door  through  which,  resolved  on 
death,  she  was  saying  something  to  Gallus,  per- 
ceive Proculejus  close  behind  her,  thrust  her  hand 
into  her  girdle,  and  with  the  speed  of  lightning — 
you  have  already  heard  so — throw  up  her  arm  with 
the  little  dagger  to  bury  the  sharp  blade  in  her 
breast.  What  a  picture !  In  the  full  radiance  of 
the  brilliant  light,  she  resembled  a  statue  of  tri- 
umphant victory  or  of  noble  pride  in  great  deeds 
accomplished  ;  and  then,  then,  only  an  instant  later, 
what  an  outrage  was  inflicted ! 

"  Like  a  robber,  an  assassin,  Proculejus  rushed 
upon  her,  seized  her  arm,  and  wrested  the  weapon 
from  her  grasp.  His  tall  figure  concealed  her  from 
me.  But  when,  struggling  to  escape  from  the 
ruffian's  clutch,  she  again  turned  her  face  towards 
the  hall,  what  a  transformation  had  occurred  !  Her 
eyes — you  know  how  large  they  are — were  twice 
their  usual  size,  and  blazed  with  scorn,  fury,  and  ha- 
tred for  the  traitor.  The  cheering  light  had  become 
a  consuming  fire.  So  I  imagine  the  vengeance, 
the  curse  which  calls  down  ruin  upon  the  head  of 
a  foe.     And  Proculejus,  the  great  lord,  the  poet 


242  CLEOPATRA. 

whose  noble  nature  is  praised  by  the  authors  on 
the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  held  the  defenceless  woman, 
the  worthy  daughter  of  a  brilliant  line  of  kings,  in 
a  firm  grasp,  as  if  it  required  the  exertion  of  all 
his  strength  to  master  this  delicate  embodiment  of 
charming  womanhood.  True,  the  proud  blood  of 
the  outwitted  lioness  urged  her  to  resist  this  prof- 
anation, and  Proculejus — an  enviable  honour — 
made  her  feel  the  superior  strength  of  his  arm.  I 
am  no  prophet,  but  Dion,  I  repeat,  this  shameful 
struggle  and  the  glances  which  flashed  upon  him 
will  be  remembered  to  his  dying  hour.  Had  they 
been  darted  at  me,  I  should  have  cursed  my  life. 
They  blanched  even  the  Roman's  cheeks.  He  was 
lividly  pale  as  he  completed  what  he  deemed  his 
duty.  His  own  aristocratic  hands  were  degraded 
to  the  menial  task  of  searching  the  garments  of  a 
woman,  the  Queen,  for  forbidden  wares,  poisons 
or  weapons.  He  was  aided  by  one  of  Caesar's 
freedmen,  Epaphroditus,  who  is  said  to  stand  so 
high  in  the  favour  of  Octavianus. 

"  The  scoundrel  also  searched  Iras  and  Char- 
mian,  yet  all  the  time  both  Romans  constantly 
spoke  in  cajoling  terms  of  Caesar's  favour,  and  his 
desire  to  grant  Cleopatra  everything  which  was 
due  a  Queen. 

"  At  last  she  was  taken  back  to  Lochias,  but  I 
felt  like  a  madman ;  for  the  image  of  the  unfortu- 
nate woman  pursued  me  like  my  shadow.  It  was 
no  longer  a  vision  of  the  bewitching  sovereign — 


CLEOPATRA. 


243 


nay,  it  resembled  the  incarnation  of  despair,  tear- 
less anguish,  wrath  demanding  vengeance.  I  will 
not  describe  it;  but  those  eyes,  those  flashing, 
threatening  eyes,  and  the  tangled  hair  on  which 
Antony's  blood  had  flowed  —  terrible,  horrible! 
My  heart  grew  chill,  as  if  I  had  seen  upon  Athene's 
shield  the  head  of  the  Medusa  with  its  serpent 
locks. 

"  It  had  been  impossible  for  me  to  warn  her  in 
time,  or  even  to  seize  the  traitor's  arm — I  have 
already  said  so — and  yet,  yet  her  shining  image 
gazed  reproachfully  at  me  for  my  cowardly  delay. 
Her  glance  still  haunts  me,  robbing  me  of  calmness 
and  peace.  Not  until  I  gaze  into  Helena's  pure, 
calm  eyes  will  that  terrible  vision  of  the  face, 
flooded  by  light  in  the  midst  of  the  tomb,  cease  to 
haunt  me." 

His  friend  laid  his  hand  on  his  arm,  spoke 
soothingly  to  him,  and  reminded  him  of  the  bless- 
ings which  this  terrible  day — he  had  said  so  him- 
self— had  brought. 

Dion  was  right  to  give  this  warning ;  for  Gor- 
gias's  bearing  and  the  very  tone  of  his  voice 
changed  as  he  eagerly  declared  that  the  frightful 
events  had  been  followed  by  more  than  happy 
ones  for  the  city,  his  friend,  and  Barine. 

Then,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  he  continued :  "  I 
pursued  my  way  home  like  a  drunken  man.  Every 
attempt  to  approach  the  Queen  or  her  attendants 
was  baflied,  but  I  learned  from  Charmian's  clever 


244  CLEOPATRA. 

Nubian  that  Cleopatra  had  been  permitted,  in 
Caesar's  name,  to  choose  the  palace  she  desired  to 
occupy,  and  had  selected  the  one.  at  Lochias. 

"  I  did  not  make  much  progress  towards  my 
house  ;  the  crowd  in  front  of  the  great  gymnasium 
stopped  me.  Octavianus  had  gone  into  the  city, 
and  the  people,  I  heard,  had  greeted  him  with  ac- 
clamations and  flung  themselves  on  their  knees 
before  him.  Our  stiff-necked  Alexandrians  in  the 
dust  before  the  victor  !  It  enraged  me,  but  my 
resentment  was  diminished. 

*'  The  members  of  the  gymnasium  all  knew  me. 
They  made  way  and,  ere  I  was  aware  of  it,  I  had 
passed  through  the  door.  Tall  Phryxus  had  drawn 
my  arm  through  his.  He  appears  and  vanishes  at 
will,  is  as  alert  as  he  is  rich,  sees  and  hears  every- 
thing, and  manages  to  secure  the  best  places. 
This  time  he  had  again  succeeded  ;  for  when  he 
released  me  we  were  standing  opposite  to  a  newly 
erected  tribune. 

"  They  were  waiting  for  Octavianus,  who  was 
still  in  the  hypostyle  of  Euergetes  receiving  the 
homage  of  the  epitrop,  the  members  of  the  Council, 
the  gymnasiarch,  and  I  know  not  how  many  others. 

"  Phryxus  said  that  on  Caesar's  entry  he  had 
held  out  his  hand  to  his  former  tutor,  bade  him 
accompany  him,  and  commanded  that  his  sons 
should  be  presented.  The  philosopher  had  been 
distinguished  above  every  one  else,  and  this  will 
benefit  you  and  yours ;  for  he  is  Berenike's  brother, 


CLEOPATRA.  245 

and  therefore  your  wife's  uncle.  What  he  desires 
is  sure  to  be  granted.  You  will  hear  at  once  how 
studiously  the  Caesar  distinguishes  him.  I  do  not 
grudge  it  to  the  man ;  he  interceded  boldly  for 
Barine  ;  he  is  lauded  as  an  able  scholar,  and  he 
does  not  lack  courage.  In  spite  of  Actium  and  the 
only  disgraceful  deed  with  which,  to  my  knowledge, 
Mark  Antony  could  be  reproached — I  mean  the  sur- 
render of  Turullius — Arius  remained  here,  though 
the  Imperator  might  have  held  the  friend  of  Julius 
Caesar's  nephew  as  a  hostage  as  easily  as  he  gave 
up  the  Emperor's  assassin. 

"  Since  Octavianus  encamped  before  the  city, 
your  uncle  has  been  in  serious  danger,  and  his 
sons  shared  his  peril.  Surely  you  must  know  the 
handsome,  vigorous  young  Ephebi. 

"  We  were  not  obliged  to  wait  long  in  the  gym- 
nasium ere  the  Caesar  appeared  on  the  platform ; 
and  now — if  your  hand  clenches,  it  is  only  what  I 
expect — now  all  fell  on  their  knees.  Our  turbu- 
lent, rebellious  rabble  raised  their  hands  like  plead- 
ing beggars,  and  grave,  dignified  men  followed 
their  example.  W^hoever  saw  me  and  Phryxus  will 
number  us  among  the  kneeling  lickspittles  ;  for 
had  we  remained  standing  we  should  certainly 
have  been  dragged  down.  So  we  followed  the  ex- 
ample of  the  others." 

"  And  Octavianus  ?  "  asked  Dion  eagerly. 

"  A  man  of  regal  bearing  and  youthful  aspect ; 
a  beardless  face  of  the  finest  chiselling,  a  profile 


246 


CLEOPATRA. 


as  beautiful  as  if  created  for  the  coin-maker ;  all 
the  lines  sharp  and  yet  pleasing  ;  every  inch  an 
aristocrat ;  but  the  very  mirror  of  a  cold  nature, 
incapable  of  any  lofty  aspiration,  any  warm  emo- 
tion, any  tenderness  of  feeling.  All  in  all,  a  hand- 
some, haughty,  calculating  man,  whose  friendship 
would  hardly  benefit  the  heart,  but  from  whose 
enmity  may  the  immortals  guard  all  we  love  !  ' 

"  Again  he  led  Arius  by  the  hand.  The  philos- 
opher's sons  followed  the  pair.  When  he  stood  on 
the  stage,  looking  down  upon  the  thousands  kneel- 
ing before  him,  not  a  muscle  of  his  noble  face — it 
is  certainly  that — betrayed  the  slightest  emotion. 
He  gazed  at  us  like  a  farmer  surveying  his  flocks 
and,  after  a  long  silence,  said  curtly  in  excellent 
Greek  that  he  absolved  the  Alexandrians  from  all 
guilt  towards  him  :  first — he  counted  as  if  he  were 
summoning  individual  veterans  to  reward  them — 
from  respect  for  the  illustrious  founder  of  our 
city,  Alexander,  the  conqueror  of  the  world ;  sec- 
ondly, because  the  greatness  and  beauty  of  Alex- 
andria filled  him  with  admiration  ;  and,  thirdly — he 
turned  to  Arius  as  he  spoke — to  give  pleasure  to 
his  admirable  and  beloved  friend. 

**  Then  shouts  of  joy  burst  forth. 

"  Every  one,  from  the  humblest  to  the  greatest, 
had  had  a  heavy  burden  removed  from  his  mind, 
and  the  throng  had  scarcely  left  the  gymnasium 
when  they  were  again  laughing  saucily  enough, 
and  there  was  no  lack  of  biting  and  innocent  jests. 


CLEOPATRA. 


247 


The  fat  carpenter,  Memnon — who  furnished  the 
wood- work  for  your  palace — exclaimed  close  beside 
me  that  formerly  a  dolphin  had  saved  Arius  from 
the  pirates;  now  Arius  was  saving  marine  Alex- 
andria from  the  robbers.  So  the  sport  went  on. 
Philostratus,  Barine's  first  husband,  offered  the 
best  butt  for  jests.  The  agitator  had  good  reason 
to  fear  the  worst ;  and  now,  clad  in  black  mourning 
robes,  ran  after  Arius,  whom  but  a  few  months 
ago  he  persecuted  with  the  most  vindictive  hatred, 
continually  repeating  this  shallow  bit  of  verse : 

**  *If  he  is  a  wise  man,  let  the  wise  aid  the  wise.' 

"  Reaching  home  was  not  easy.  The  street 
was  swarming  with  Roman  soldiers.  They  fared 
well  enough ;  for  in  the  joy  of  their  hearts  many 
a  prosperous  citizen  who  saw  his  property  saved 
invited  individual  warriors,  or  even  a  whole  mani- 
ple, to  the  taverns  or  cook-shops,  and  the  stock  of 
wine  in  Alexandrian  cellars  will  be  considerably 
diminished  to-night. 

"  Many,  as  I  have  already  said,  had  been  quar- 
tered in  the  houses,  with  orders  to  spare  the  prop- 
erty of  the  citizens  ;  and  it  was  in  this  way  that  the 
misfortune  with  which  I  commenced  my  narrative 
befell  the  grandmother.  She  died  before  my  de- 
parture. 

"  All  the  gates  of  the  city  will  now  stand  open 
to  you,  and  the  niece  of  Arius  and  her  husband 
will   be  received  with   ovations.     1   don't   grudge 


248  CLEOPATRA. 

Barine  the  good  fortune;  for  the  way  in  which 
your  noble  wife,  who  had  cast  her  spell  over  me 
too,  flung  aside  what  is  always  dear  to  the  admired 
city  beauty  and  found  on  the  loneliest  of  islands  a 
new  world  in  love,  is  worthy  of  all  admiration  and 
praise.  For  yourself,  I  dread  new  happiness  and 
honours;  if  they  are  added  to  those  which  Fate 
bestowed  upon  you  in  such  a  wife  and  your  son 
Pyrrhus,  the  gods  would  not  be  themselves  if  they 
did  not  pursue  you  with  their  envy.  I  have  less 
reason  to  fear  them." 

"  Ungrateful  fellow  !  "  interrupted  his  friend. 
"  There  will  be  numerous  mortals  to  grudge  you 
Helena.  As  for  me,  I  have  already  felt  many  a 
slight  foreboding;  but  we  have  already  paid  by 
no  means  a  small  tribute  to  the  divine  ones.  The 
lamp  is  still  burning  in  the  sitting-room.  Inform 
the  sisters  of  their  grandmother's  death,  and  tell 
them  the  pleasant  tidings  you  have  brought  us, 
but  reserve  until  the  morning  a  description  of  the 
terrible  scenes  you  witnessed.  We  will  not  spoil 
their  sleep.  Mark  my  words !  Helena's  silent 
grief  and  her  joy  at  our  escape  will  lighten  your 
heart." 

And  so  it  proved.  True,  Gorgias  lived  over 
again  in  his  dreams  the  frightful  spectacle  wit- 
nessed the  day  before ;  but  when  the  sun  of  the 
2d  day  of  August  rose  in  full  radiance  over  Alex- 
andria and,  early  in  the  morning,  boat  after  boat 
.reached  the  Serpent  Island,  landing  first  Berenike 


CLEOPATRA.  249 

and  her  nephews,  the  sons  of  the  honoured  philos- 
opher Arius,  then  clients,  officials,  and  friends  of 
Dion,  and  former  favourite  guests  of  Barine,  to 
greet  the  young  pair  and  escort  them  from  the 
refuge  which  had  so  long  sheltered  them  back  to 
the  city  and  their  midst,  new  and  pleasant  impres- 
sions robbed  the  gloomy  picture  of  a  large  portion 
of  its  terrors. 

"  Tall  Phryxus  "  had  rapidly  spread  the  news 
of  the  place  where  Dion  and  Barine  had  vanished, 
and  that  they  had  long  been  happily  wedded. 
Many  deemed  it  well  worth  a  short  voyage  -to  see 
the  actors  in  so  strange  an  adventure  and  be  the 
first  to  greet  them.  Besides,  those  who  knew  Ba- 
rine and  her  husband  were  curious  to  learn  how 
two  persons  accustomed  to  the  life  of  a  great  capi- 
tal had  endured  for  months  such  complete  soli- 
tude. Many  feared  or  expected  to  see  them  ema- 
ciated and  careworn,  haggard  or  sunk  in  melan- 
choly, and  hence  there  were  a  number  of  astonished 
faces  among  those  whose  boats  the  freedman  Pyr- 
rhus  guided  as  pilot  through  the  shallows  which 
protected  his  island. 

The  return  of  this  rare  couple  to  their  home 
would  have  afforded  an  excellent  opportunity  for 
gay  festivities.  Sincerely  as  the  majority  of  the 
populace  mourned  the  fate  of  the  Queen,  and 
gravely  as  the  more  thoughtful  feared  for  Alexan- 
dria's freedom  under  Roman  rule,  all  rejoiced  over 
the  lenient  treatment  of  the  city.     Their  lives  and 


250 


CLEOPATRA. 


property  were  safe,  and  the  celebration  of  fes- 
tivals had  become  a  life  habit  with  all  classes. 
But  the  news  of  the  death  of  Didymus's  wife  and 
the  illness  of  the  old  man,  who  could  not  bear 
up  under  the  loss  of  his  faithful  companion,  gave 
Dion  a  right  to  refuse  any  gay  welcome  at  his 
home. 

Barine's  sorrow  was  his  also,  and  Didymus  died 
a  few  days  after  his  wife,  with  whom  he  had  lived 
in  the  bonds  of  love  for  more  than  half  a  century 
— people  said,  "of  a  broken  heart." 

So  Dion  and  his  young  wife  entered  his  beauti- 
ful palace  with  no  noisy  festivities.  Instead  of 
the  jubilant  hymenaeus,  the  voice  of  his  own  child 
greeted  him  on  the  threshold. 

The  mourning  garments  in  which  Barine  wel- 
comed him  in  the  women's  apartment  reminded 
him  of  the  envy  of  the  gods  which  his  friend  had 
feared  for  him.  But  he  often  fancied  that  his 
mother's  statue  in  the  tablinum  looked  specially 
happy  when  the  young  mistress  of  the  house  en- 
tered it. 

Barine,  too,  felt  that  her  happiness  as  wife  and 
mother  in  her  magnificent  home  would  have  been 
overwhelming  had  not  a  wise  destiny  imposed 
upon  her,  just  at  this  time,  grief  for  those  whom 
she  loved. 

Dion  instantly  devoted  himself  again  to  the 
affairs  of  the  city  and  his  own  business.  He  and 
the  woman  he  loved,  who  had  first  become  really 


CLEOPATRA. 


251 


his  own  during  a  time  of  sore  privation,  had  run 
into  the  harbour  and  gazed  quietly  at  the  storms 
of  life.  The  anchor  of  love,  which  moored  their 
ship  to  the  solid  earth,  had  been  tested  in  the  soli- 
tude of  the  Serpent  Island. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

The  fisherman  and  his  family  had  watched  the 
departure  of  their  beloved  guests  with  sorrowful 
hearts,  and  the  women  had  shed  many  tears,  al- 
though the  sons  of  Pyrrhus  had  been  dismissed 
from  the  fleet  and  were  again  helping  their  father 
at  home,  as  in  former  times. 

Besides,  Dion  had  made  the  faithful  freedman  a 
prosperous  man,  and  given  his  daughter,  Dione,  a 
marriage  dowry.  She  was  soon  to  become  the 
wife  of  the  captain  of  the  Epicurus,  x\rchibius's 
swift  galley,  whose  acquaintance  she  had  made 
when  the  vessel,  on  several  occasions,  brought 
Charmian's  Nubian  maid  to  the  island.  Anukis's 
object  in  making  these  visits  was  not  only  to  see 
her  friend,  but  to  induce  him  to  catch  one  of  the 
poisonous  serpents  in  the  neighbouring  island  and 
keep  it  ready  for  the  Queen. 

Since  Cleopatra  had  ascertained  that  no  poison 
caused  a  less  painful  death  than  the  fangs  of  the 
asp,  she  had  resolved  that  the  bite  of  one  of  these 
reptiles  should  release  her  from  the  burden  of  life. 
The  clever  Ethiopian  had  thought  of  inducing  her 


CLEOPATRA. 


253 


friend  Pyrrhus  to  procure  the  adder,  but  it  had  re- 
quired all  Aisopion's  skill  in  persuasion,  and  the 
touching  manner  in  which  she  understood  how  to 
describe  the  Queen's  terrible  situation  and  severe 
suffering,  to  conquer  the  reluctance  of  the  upright 
man.  At  last  she  succeeded  in  persuading  him  to 
measure  a  queen  by  a  different  standard  from  a 
woman  of  the  people,  and  inducing  him  to  arrange 
the  manner  and  time  of  conveying  the  serpent  into 
the  well-guarded  palace.  A  signal  was  to  inform 
him  when  the  decisive  hour  arrived.  After  that 
he  was  to  be  ready  with  the  asp  in  the  fish-market 
every  day.  Probably  his  service  would  soon  be 
claimed ;  for  Octavianus's  delay  was  scarcely  an 
indication  of  a  favourable  decision  of  Cleopatra's 
fate. 

True,  she  was  permitted  to  live  in  royal  state  at 
Lochias,  and  had  even  been  allowed  to  have  the 
children,  the  twins,  and  little  Alexander  sent  back 
to  her  with  the  promise  that  life  and  liberty  would 
be  granted  them  ;  but  Caesarion — whose  treacher- 
ous tutor  Rhodon  lured  him  from  the  journey 
southward  back  to  Alexandria  by  all  sorts  of  rep- 
resentations, among  them  the  return  of  Barine — 
was  held  prisoner  in  his  father's  temple,  where  he 
had  sought  refuge.  This  news,  and  the  fact  that 
Octavianus  had  condemned  to  death  the  youth 
who  bore  so  striking  a  resemblance  to  Caesar,  had 
not  remained  concealed  from  the  unhappy  mother. 
She  was  also  informed  of  the  words  in  which  the 
37 


254 


CLEOPATRA. 


philosopher  Arius  had  encouraged  Caesar's  desire 
to  rid  himself  of  the  son  of  his  famous  uncle. 
They  referred  to  the  Homeric  saying  concerning 
the  disadvantage  of  having  many  rulers. , 

Everything  which  Cleopatra  desired  to  know 
concerning  events  in  the  city  reached  her  ears; 
for  she  was  allowed  much  liberty — only  she  was 
closely  watched  day  and  night,  and  all  the  serv- 
ants and  officials  to  whom  she  granted  an  audience 
were  carefully  searched  to  keep  from  her  all  means 
of  self-destruction. 

True,  it  was  very  evident  that  she  had  closed 
her  account  with  life.  Her  attempt  to  take  no 
food  and  die  of  starvation  must  have  been  no- 
ticed. Threats  directed  against  the  children, 
through  whom  she  could  be  most  easily  influenced, 
finally  induced  her  to  eat  again.  Octavianus  was 
informed  of  all  these  things,  and  his  conduct 
proved  his  anxiety  to  keep  her  from  suicide. 

Several  Asiatic  princes  vied  with  each  other  in 
the  desire  to  honour  Mark  Antony  by  a  magnificent 
funeral,  but  Octavianus  had  allowed  Cleopatra  to 
provide  the  most  superb  obsequies.  In  the  time 
of  her  deepest  anguish  it  afforded  her  comfort  and 
satisfaction  to  arrange  everything  herself,  and  even 
perform  some  offices  with  her  own  hands.  The 
funeral  had  been  as  gorgeous  as  the  dead  man's 
love  of  splendour  could  have  desired. 

Iras  and  Charmian  were  often  unable  to  under- 
stand how  the  Queen — who,  since  Antony's  death, 


CLEOPATRA  255 

had  suffered  not  only  from  the  wounds  she  had  in- 
flicted upon  herself  in  her  despair,  but  also  after 
her  baffled  attempt  at  starvation  from  a  slow 
fever — had  succeeded  in  resisting  the  severe  exer- 
tions and  mental  agitation  to  which  she  had  been 
subjected  by  Antony's  funeral. 

The  return  of  Archibius  with  the  children,  how- 
ever, had  visibly  reanimated  her  flagging  energy. 

She  often  went  to  Didymus's  garden,  which 
was  now  connected  with  the  palace  at  Lochias,  to 
watch  their  work  and  share  whatever  interested 
their  young  hearts. 

But  the  gayest  of  mothers,  who  had  understood 
how  to  enter  so  thoroughly  into  her  children's 
pursuits,  had  now  become  a  sorrowful,  grave  mon- 
itor. Though  the  lessons  she  urged  upon  them 
were  often  beautiful  and  wise,  they  were  little 
suited  to  the  ages  of  Archibius's  pupils,  for  they 
usually  referred  to  death  and  to  questions  of  phi- 
losophy not  easily  understood  by  children. 

She  herself  felt  that  she  no  longer  struck  the 
right  key ;  but  whenever  she  tried  to  change  it 
and  jest  with  them  as  usual,  she  could  endure  the 
forced  gaiety  only  a  short  time ;  a  painful  revul- 
sion, frequently  accompanied  by  tears,  followed, 
and  she  was  obliged  to  leave  her  darlings. 

The  life  her  foe  granted  her  seemed  like  an 
intrusive  gift,  an  oppressive  debt,  which  we  desire 
to  pay  a  troublesome  creditor  as  soon  as  possible. 

She  seemed  calmer  and  apparently  content  only 


256  CLEOPATRA. 

when  permitted  to  talk  with  the  companions  of  her 
youth  concerning  bygone  days,  or  with  them  and 
Iras  of  death,  and  how  it  would  be  possible  to  put 
an  end  to  an  unwelcome  existence. 

After  such  conversations  Iras  and  Charmian 
left  her  with  bleeding  hearts.  They  had  long 
since  resolved  to  share  the  fate  of  their  royal  mis- 
tress, whatever  it  might  be.  Their  common  suffer- 
ing was  the  bond  which  again  united  them  in  affec- 
tion. Iras  had  provided  poisoned  pins  which  had 
speedily  destroyed  the  animals  upon  which  they 
had  been  tried.  Cleopatra  knew  of  their  existence, 
but  she  herself  preferred  the  painless  death  be- 
stowed by  the  serpent's  bite,  and  it  was  long  since 
her  friends  had  seen  the  eyes  of  their  beloved  sov- 
ereign sparkle  so  brightly  as  when  Charmian  told 
her  that  a  way  had  been  found  to  obtain  the  uraeus 
serpent  as  soon  as  it  was  needed.  But  it  was  not 
yet  imperative  to  adopt  the  last  expedient.  Octa- 
vianus  wished  to  be  considered  lenient,  and  per- 
haps might  still  be  prevailed  upon  to  grant  the 
Queen  and  her  children  a  future  meet  for  their 
royal  birth. 

Cleopatra's  reply  was  an  incredulous  smile,  yet 
a  faint  hope  which  saved  her  from  despair  began 
to  bud  in  her  soul. 

Dolabella,  an  aristocratic  Roman,  a  scion  of  the 
noble  Cornelius  family,  was  in  the  Caesar's  train, 
and  had  been  presented  to  the  Egyptian  Queen.  In 
former  years  his  father  was  a  friend  of  Cleopatra ; 


CLEOPATRA.  257 

nay,  she  had  placed  him  under  obligations  by  sending 
him,  after  the  murder  of  Julius  Caesar,  the  military 
force  at  her  command  to  be  used  against  Cassius. 
True,  her  legions,  by  messengers  from  Dolabella 
himself,  were  despatched  in  another  direction;  but 
Cleopatra  had  not  withdrawn  her  favour  from  Dola- 
bella's  father  on  that  account.  The  latter  had 
known  her  in  Rome  before  the  death  of  Caesar,  and 
had  enthusiastically  described  the  charms  of  the  be- 
witching Egyptian  sovereign.  Though  the  youth 
found  her  only  a  mourning  widow,  ill  in  body  and 
mind,  he  was  so  strongly  attracted  and  deeply 
moved  by  her  beauty,  her  brilliant  intellect,  her 
grace  of  bearing,  her  misfortunes  and  sufferings, 
that  he  devoted  many  hours  to  her,  and  would 
have  considered  it  a  happiness  to  render  her 
greater  services  than  circumstances  permitted.  He 
often  accompanied  her  to  the  children,  whose  hearts 
had  been  completely  won  by  his  frank,  cheerful 
nature ;  and  so  it  happened  that  he  soon  became 
one  of  the  most  welcome  guests  at  Lochias.  He 
confided  without  reserve  every  feeling  that  stirred 
his  soul  to  the  warm-hearted  woman  who  was  so 
many  years  his  senior,  and  through  him  she  learned 
many  things  connected  with  Octavianus  and  his 
surroundings.  Without  permitting  himself  to  be 
used  as  a  tool,  he  became  an  advocate  for  the  un- 
fortunate woman  whom  he  so  deeply  esteemed. 

In  intercourse  with  her  he  made  every  effort 
to  inspire  confidence  in  Octavianus,  who  favoured 


^58  CLEOPATRA. 

him,  enjoyed  his  society,  and  in  whose  magna- 
nimity the  youth  firmly  believed. 

He  anticipated  the  best  results  from  an  inter- 
view between  the  Queen  and  the  Caesar ;  for  he 
deemed  it  impossible  that  the  successful  conqueror 
could  part  untouched,  and  with  no  desire  to  miti- 
gate her  sad  fate,  from  the  woman  who,  in  earlier 
years,  had  so  fascinated  his  father,  and  whom  he 
himself,  though  she  might  almost  have  been  his 
mother,  deemed  peerless  in  her  bewitching  and 
gracious  charm. 

Cleopatra,  on  the  contrary,  shrank  from  meet- 
ing the  man  who  had  brought  so  much  misfortune 
upon  Mark  Antony  and  herself,  and  inflicted  upon 
her  insults  which  were  only  too  well  calculated  to 
make  her  doubt  his  clemency  and  truth.  On  the 
other  hand,  she  could  not  deny  Dolabella's  asser- 
tion that  it  would  be  far  less  easy  for  Octavianus 
to  refuse  her  in  person  the  wishes  she  cherished 
for  her  children's  future  than  through  mediators. 
Proculejus  had  learned  that  Antony  had  named 
him  to  the  Queen  as  the  person  most  worthy  of 
her  confidence,  and  more  keenly  felt  the  wrong 
which,  as  the  tool  and  obedient  friend  of  Octavi- 
anus, he  had  inflicted  upon  the  hapless  woman. 
The  memory  of  his  unworthy  deed,  which  history 
would  chronicle,  had  robbed  the  sensitive  man,  the 
author  and  patron  of  budding  Roman  poetry,  of 
many  an  hour's  sleep,  and  therefore  he  also  now 
laboured  zealously  to  oblige  the  Queen  and  miti- 


CLEOPATRA. 


259 


gate  her  hard  fate.  He,  like  the  freedman  Epaph- 
roditus,  who  by  Caesar's  orders  watched  carefully 
to  prevent  any  attempt  upon  her  life,  seemed  to 
base  great  hopes  on  such  an  interview,  and  endeav- 
oured to  persuade  her  to  request  an  audience  from 
the  Caesar. 

Archibius  said  that,  even  in  the  worst  case,  it 
could  not  render  the  present  state  of  affairs  darker. 
Experience,  he  said  to  Charmian,  proved  that  no 
man  of  any  feeling  could  wholly  resist  the  charm 
of  her  nature,  and  to  him  at  least  she  had  never 
seemed  more  winning  than  now.  Who  could  have 
gazed  unmoved  into  the  beautiful  face,  so  eloquent 
in  its  silent  suffering,  whose  soul  would  not  have 
been  deeply  touched  by  the  sorrowful  tones  of  her 
sweet  voice  ?  Besides,  her  sable  mourning  robes 
were  so  well  suited  to  the  slight  tinge  of  melan- 
choly which  pervaded  her  whole  aspect.  When  the 
fever  flushed  her  cheeks,  Archibius,  spite  of  the 
ravages  which  grief,  anxiety,  and  fear  had  made 
upon  her  charms,  thought  that  he  had  never  seen 
her  look  more  beautiful.  He  knew  her  thoroughly, 
and  was  aware  that  her  desire  to  follow  the  man 
she  loved  into  the  realm  of  death  was  sincere; 
nay,  that  it  dominated  her  whole  being.  She  clung 
to  life  only  to  die  as  soon  as  possible.  The  decision 
which,  after  her  resolve  to  build  the  monument, 
she  had  recognized  in  the  temple  of  Berenike  as 
the  right  one,  had  become  the  rule  of  conduct  of 
her  life.     Every  thought,  every  conversation,  led 


26o  CLEOPATRA. 

her  back  to  the  past.  The  future  seemed  to  exist 
no  longer.  If  Archibius  succeeded  in  directing 
her  thoughts  to  approaching  days  she  occupied 
herself  wholly  with  her  children's  fate.  For  her- 
self she  expected  nothing,  felt  absolved  from  every 
duty  except  the  one  of  protecting  herself  and  her 
name  from  dishonour  and  humiliation. 

The  fact  that  Octavianus,  when  he  doomed 
Caesarion  to  death,  permitted  the  other  children 
to  return  to  her  with  the  assurance  that  no  harm 
should  befall  them,  proved  that  he  made  a  distinc- 
tion between  them  and  his  uncle's  son,  and  had  no 
fears  that  tliey  threatened  his  own  safety.  She 
might  expect  important  results  in  their  favour 
from  an  interview  with  Octavianus,  so  she  at  last 
authorized  Proculejus  to  request  an  audience. 

The  Imperator's  answer  came  the  very  same 
day.  It  was  his  place  to  seek  her — so  ran  the 
Caesar's  message.  This  meeting  must  decide  her 
fate.  Cleopatra  was  aware  of  this,  and  begged 
Charmian  to  remember  the  asp. 

Her  attendants  had  been  forbidden  to  leave 
Lochias,  but  Epaphroditus  permitted  them  to  re- 
ceive visitors.  The  Nubian's  merry,  amusing  talk 
had  made  friends  for  her  among  the  Roman  guards, 
who  allowed  her  to  pass  in  and  out  unmolested. 
On  her  return,  of  course,  she  was  searched  with 
the  utmost  care,  like  every  one  who  entered 
Lochias. 

The  decisive  hour  was  close  at  hand.     Char- 


CLEOPATRA.  26 1 

mian  knew  what  she  must  do  in  any  event,  but 
there  was  still  one  desire  for  whose  fulfilment  she 
longed.  She  wished  to  greet  Barine  and  see  her 
boy. 

To  spare  Iras,  she  had  hitherto  refrained  from 
sending  for  Dion's  wife.  The  sight  of  the  mother 
and  child  might  have  reopened  wounds  still  un- 
healed, and  she  would  not  inflict  this  sorrow  upon 
her  niece,  who  for  a  long  time  had  once  more  been 
loyally  devoted  to  her. 

Octavianus  did  not  hasten  to  fulfil  his  assurance. 
But,  at  the  end  of  a  week,  Proculejus  brought  the 
news  that  he  could  promise  a  visit  fr^m  the  Caesar 
that  afternoon.  The  Queen  was  deeply  agitated, 
and  desired  before  the  interview  to  pay  a  visit  to 
her  tomb.  Iras  offered  to  accompany  her,  and  as 
Cleopatra  intended  to  remain  an  hour  or  longer, 
Charmian  thought  it  a  favourable  opportunity  to 
see  Barine  and  her  boy. 

Dion's  wife  had  been  informed  of  her  friend's 
wish,  and  Anukis,  who  was  to  take  her  to  Lochias, 
did  not  wait  long  for  the  mother  and  child. 

Didymus's  garden — now  the  property  of  the 
royal  children — was  the  scene  of  the  meeting.  In 
the  shade  of  the  familiar  trees  the  young  mother 
sank  upon  the  breast  of  her  faithful  friend,  and 
Charmian  could  not  gaze  her  fill  at  the  boy,  or 
weary  of  tracing  in  his  features  a  resemblance  to 
his  grandfather  Leonax. 

How  much  these  two  women,  to  whom  Fate  had 


262  CLEOPATRA. 

allotted  lives  so  widely  different,  found  to  tell  each 
other  !  The  older  felt  transported  to  the  past,  the 
younger  seemed  to  have  naught  save  a  present 
rich  in  blessing  and  a  future  green  with  hope. 
She  had  good  news  to  tell  of  her  sister  also. 
Helena  had  long  been  the  happy  wife  of  Gorgias 
who,  however,  spite  of  the  love  with  which  he  sur- 
rounded the  young  mistress  of  his  house,  num- 
bered among  his  most  blissful  hours  those  which 
were  devoted  to  overseeing  the  progress  of  the 
work  on  the  mausoleum,  where  he  met  Cleo- 
patra. 

Time  flew  swiftly  to  the  two  women,  and  it  was 
a  painful  surprise  when  one  of  the  eunuchs  on 
guard  announced  that  the  Queen  had  returned. 
Again  Charmian  embraced  her  lover's  grandson, 
blessed  him  and  the  young  mother,  sent  messages 
of  remembrance  to  Dion,  begged  Barine  to  think 
of  her  affectionately  when  she  had  passed  from 
earth  and,  if  her  heart  prompted  her  to  the  act,  to 
anoint  or  adorn  with  a  ribbon  or  flower  the  tomb- 
stone of  the  woman  who  had  no  friend  to  render 
her  such  a  service. 

Deeply  moved  by  the  firmness  with  which  Char- 
mian witnessed  the  approach  of  death,  Barine  lis- 
tened in  silence,  but  suddenly  started  as  the  sharp 
tones  of  a  well-known  voice  called  her  friend's 
name  and,  as  she  turned,  Iras  stood  before  her. 
Pallid  and  emaciated,  she  looked  in  her  long,  float- 
ing black  robes  the  very  incarnation  of  misery. 


CLEOPATRA. 


263 


The  sight  pierced  the  heart  of  the  happy  wife 
and  mother.  She  felt  as  if  much  of  the  joy  which 
Iras  lacked  had  fallen  to  her  own  lot,  and  all  the 
grief  and  woe  she  had  ever  endured  had  been  trans- 
ferred to  her  foe.  She  would  fain  have  approached 
humbly  and  said  something  very  kind  and  friend- 
ly ;  but  when  she  saw  the  tall,  haggard  woman 
gazing  at  her  child,  and  noticed  the  disagreeable 
expression  which  had  formerly  induced  her  to  com- 
pare her  to  a  sharp  thorn,  a  terrible  dread  of  this 
woman's  evil  eye  which  might  harm  her  boy  seized 
the  mother's  heart  and,  overwhelmed  by  an  impulse 
beyond  control,  she  covered  his  face  with  her  own 
veil. 

Iras  saw  it,  and  after  Barine  had  answered  her 
question,  "  Dion's  child?"  in  the  affirmative,  with 
a  glance  beseeching  forbearance,  the  girl  drew  up 
her  slender  figure,  saying  with  arrogant  coldness : 
"  What  do  I  care  for  the  child  ?  We  have  more  im- 
portant matters  on  our  hearts." 

Then  she  turned  to  Charmian  to  inform  her,  in 
the  tone  of  an  official  announcement,  that  during 
the  approaching  interview  the  Queen  desired  her 
attendance  also. 

Octavianus  had  appointed  sunset  for  the  inter- 
view, and  it  still  lacked  several  hours  of  the  time. 
The  suffering  Queen  felt  wearied  by  her  visit  to  the 
mausoleum,  where  she  had  implored  the  spirit  of 
Antony,  if  he  had  any  power  over  the  conqueror's 
heart,  to  induce  him  to  release  her  from  this  tor- 


264  CLEOPATRA. 

turing    uncertainty   and   promise   the    children   a 
happy  fate. 

To  Dolabella,  who  had  accompanied  her  from 
the  tomb  to  the  palace,  she  said  that  she  expected 
only  one  thing  from  this  meeting,  and  then  won 
from  him  a  promise  which  strengthened  her  cour- 
age and  seemed  the  most  precious  boon  which 
could  be  granted  at  this  time. 

She  had  expressed  the  fear  that  Octavianus 
would  still  leave  her  in  doubt.  The  youth  spoke 
vehemently  in  Caesar's  defence,  and  closed  with  the 
exclamation,  "  If  he  should  still  keep  you  in  sus- 
pense, he  would  be  not  only  cool  and  circum- 
spect  " 

"  Then,"  Cleopatra  interrupted,  "  be  nobler,  be 
less  cruel,  and  release  your  father's  friend  from 
these  tortures.  If  he  does  not  reveal  to  me  what 
awaits  me  and  you  learn  it,  then — you  will  not  say 
no,  you  cannot  refuse  me — then  you,  yes,  you  will 
inform  me  ? " 

Promptly  and  firmly  came  the  reply :  "  What 
have  I  been  able  to  do  for  you  until  now?  But 
I  will  release  you  from  this  torture,  if  possible." 
Then  he  hastily  turned  his  back,  that  he  might  not 
be  compelled  to  see  the  eunuchs  stationed  at  the 
palace  gate  search  the  garments  of  the  royal  cap- 
tive. 

His  promise  sustained  the  failing  courage  of 
the  wearied,  anxious  Queen,  and  she  reclined  upon 
the  cushions  of  a  lounge  to  recover  from  the  ex- 


CLEOPATRA.  265 

hausting  expedition ;  but  she  had  scarcely  closed 
her  eyes  when  the  pavement  of  the  court-yard  rang 
under  the  hoofs  of  the  four  horses  which  bore  the 
Caesar  to  Lochias.  Cleopatra  had  not  expected 
the  visit  so  early. 

She  had  just  been  consulting  with  her  attend- 
ants about  the  best  mode  of  receiving  him.  At 
first  she  had  been  disposed  to  do  so  on  the  throne, 
clad  in  her  royal  attire,  but  she  afterwards  thought 
that  she  was  too  ill  and  weak  to  bear  the  heavy 
ornaments.  Besides,  the  man  and  successful  con- 
queror would  show  himself  more  indulgent  and  gra- 
cious to  the  suffering  woman  than  to  the  princess. 

There  was  much  to  palliate  the  course  which 
she  had  pursued  in  former  days,  and  she  had  care- 
fully planned  the  defence  by  which  she  hoped  to 
influence  his  calm  but  not  unjust  nature.  Many 
things  in  her  favour  were  contained  in  the  letters 
from  Caesar  and  Antony  which,  after  her  husband's 
death,  she  had  read  again  and  again  during  so 
many  wakeful  nights,  and  they  had  just  been 
brought  to  her. 

Both  Archibius  and  the  Roman  Proculejus  had 
counselled  her  not  to  receive  him  entirely  alone. 
The  latter  did  not  express  his  opinion  in  words, 
but  he  knew  that  Octavianus  was  more  readily  in- 
duced to  noble  and  lenient  deeds  when  there  was 
no  lack  of  witnesses  to  report  them  to  the  world. 
It  was  advisable  to  provide  spectators  for  the  most 
consummate  actor  of  his  day. 


266  CLEOPATRA. 

Therefore  the  Queen  had  retained  Iras,  Char- 
mian,  and  some  of  the  officials  nearest  to  her  per- 
son, among  them  the  steward  Seleukus,  who  could 
give  information  if  any  question  arose  concerning 
the  delivery  of  the  treasure. 

She  had  also  intended,  after  she  had  somewhat 
recovered  from  the  visit  to  the  tomb,  to  be  robed 
in  fresh  garments.  This  was  prevented  by  the 
Caesar's  unexpected  arrival.  Now,  even  had  time 
permitted,  she  would  have  been  unable  to  have  her 
hair  arranged,  she  felt  so  weak  and  yet  so  fever- 
ishly excited. 

The  blood  coursed  hotly  through  her  veins  and 
flushed  her  cheeks.  When  told  that  the  Caesar  was 
close  at  hand,  she  had  only  time  to  raise  herself  a 
little  higher  on  her  cushions,  push  back  her  hair, 
and  let  Iras,  with  a  few  hasty  touches,  adjust  the 
folds  of  her  mourning  robes.  Had  she  attempted 
to  advance  to  meet  him,  her  limbs  would  have 
failed  to  support  her. 

When  the  Caesar  at  last  entered,  she  could 
greet  him  only  by  a  wave  of  her  hand  ;  but  Oc- 
tavianus,  who  had  uttered  the  usual  salutations 
from  the  threshold,  quickly  broke  the  painful 
silence,  saying  with  a  courteous  bow: 

"  You  summoned  me — I  came.  Every  one  is 
subject  to  beauty — even  the  victor." 

Cleopatra's  head  drooped  in  shame  as  she  an- 
swered distinctly,  yet  in  a  tone  of  modest  denial : 

"  I  only  asked  the  favour  of  an  audience.    I  did 


CLEOPATRA.  267 

not  summon.  I  thank  you  for  granting  the  request. 
If  it  is  dangerous  for  man  to  bow  to  woman's 
charms,  no  peril  threatens  you  here.  Beauty  can- 
not withstand  tortures  such  as  those  which  have 
been  imposed  on  me — barely  can  life  remain.  But 
you  prevented  my  casting  it  from  me.  If  you  are 
just,  you  will  grant  to  the  woman  whom  you  would 
not  permit  to  die  an  existence  whose  burden  will 
not  exceed  her  power  to  endure." 

The  Caesar  again  bowed  silently  and  answered 
courteously : 

"  I  intend  to  make  it  worthy  of  you." 

"  Then,"  cried  Cleopatra  impetuously,  "  release 
me  from  this  torturing  uncertainty.  You  are  not 
one  of  the  men  who  never  look  beyond  to-day  and 
to-morrow." 

**  You  are  thinking,"  said  Octavianus  harshly, 
"  of  one  who  perhaps  would  still  be  among  us,  if 
with  wiser  caution " 

Cleopatra's  eyes,  which  hitherto  had  met  the 
victor's  cold  gaze  with  modest  entreaty,  flashed 
angrily,  and  a  majestic :  "  Let  the  past  rest !  "  in- 
terrupted him. 

But  she  soon  mastered  the  indignation  which 
had  stirred  her  passionate  blood,  and  in  a  totally 
different  tone,  not  wholly  free  from  gentle  per- 
suasion, she  continued  : 

"  The  provident  intellect  of  the  man  whose  nod 
the  universe  obeys  grasps  the  future  as  well  as  the 
present.     Must  not  he,  therefore,  have  decided  the 


268  CLEOPATRA. 

children's  fate  ere  he  consented  to  see  their  mother  ? 
The  only  obstacle  in  your  path,  the  son  of  your 
great  uncle " 

"  His  doom  was  a  necessity,"  interrupted  the 
conqueror  in  a  tone  of  sincere  regret.  "  As  I 
mourned  Antony,  I  grieve  for  the  unfortunate 
boy." 

"  If  that  is  true,"  replied  Cleopatra  eagerly,  "  it 
does  honour  to  the  kindness  of  your  heart.  When 
Proculejus  wrested  the  dagger  from  my  grasp  he 
blamed  me  because  I  attributed  to  the  most  clem- 
ent of  conquerors  harshness  and  implacability." 

"  Two  qualities,"  the  Caesar  protested,  "  which 
are  wholly  alien  to  my  nature." 

"  And  which — even  if  you  possessed  them — you 
neither  could  nor  ought  to  use,"  cried  Cleopatra, 
"if  you  really  mean  the  beautiful  words  you  so 
often  utter  that,  as  the  nephew  and  heir  of  the 
great  Julius  Caesar,  you  intend  to  walk  in  his 
footsteps.  Caesarion — there  is  his  bust — was  the 
image  in  every  feature  of  his  father,  your  illus- 
trious model.  To  me,  the  hapless  woman  now 
awaiting  my  sentence  from  his  nephew's  lips,  the 
gods  granted,  as  the  most  precious  of  all  gifts,  the 
love  of  your  divine  uncle.  And  what  love  !  The 
world  knew  not  what  I  was  to  his  great  heart,  but 
my  wish  to  defend  myself  from  misconception  bids 
me  show  it  to  you,  his  heir.  From  you  I  expect 
my  sentence.  You  are  the  judge.  These  letters 
are  my  strongest  defence.     I  rely  upon  them  to 


CLEOPATRA.  269 

show  myself  to  you  as  I  was  and  am,  not  as  envy 
and  slander  describe  me. — The  little  ivory  casket, 
Iras  !  It  contains  the  precious  proofs  of  Caesar's 
love,  his  letters  to  me." 

She  raised  the  lid  with  trembling  hands  and,  as 
these  mementoes  carried  her  back  to  the  past,  she 
continued  in  lower  tones  : 

"Among  all  my  treasures  this  simple  little 
coffer  has  been  for  half  a  lifetime  my  most  valued 
jewel.  He  gave  it  to  me.  It  was  in  the  midst  of 
the  fierce  contest  here  at  the  Bruchium." 

Then,  while  unfolding  the  first  roll,  she  directed 
Octavianus's  attention  to  it  and  the  remainder  of 
the  contents  of  the  little  casket,  exclaiming : 

"  Silent  pages,  yet  how  eloquent  I  Each  one  a 
peerless  picture,  the  powerful  thinker,  the  man  of 
action,  who  permits  his  restless  intellect  to  repose, 
and  suffers  his  heart  to  overflow  with  the  love  of 
youth  !  Were  I  vain,  Octavianus,  I  might  call 
each  one  of  these  letters  a  trophy  of  victory,  an 
Olympic  garland.  The  woman  to  whom  Julius 
Caesar  owned  his  subjugation  might  well  hold  her 
head  higher  than  the  unhappy,  vanquished  Queen 
who,  save  the  permission  to  die " 

"  Do  not  part  with  the  letters,"  said  Octavianus 
kindly.  "  Who  can  doubt  that  they  are  a  precious 
treasure '* 

"  The  most  precious  and  at  the  same  time  the  ad- 
vocate of  the  accused,"  replied  Cleopatra  eagerly ; 
**  on  them — as  you  have  already  heard — rests  my 
38 


2/0 


CLEOPATRA. 


vindication.  I  will  commence  with  their  contents. 
How  terrible  it  is  to  make  what  is  sacred  to  us  and 
intended  only  to  elevate  our  own  hearts  serve  a 
purpose,  to  do  what  has  always  been  repugnant  to 
us  !  But  I  need  an  advocate  and,  Octavianus,  these 
letters  will  restore  to  the  wretched,  suffering  beg- 
gar the  dignity  and  majesty  of  the  Queen.  The 
world  knows  but  two  powers  to  which^Julius  Caesar 
bowed — the  thrall  of  the  pitiable  woman  on  this 
couch,  and  of  all-conquering  death.  An  unpleasant 
fellowship — but  I  do  not  shrink  from  it ;  for  death 

robbed  him  of  life,  and  from  my  hand I  ask 

only  a  brief  moment.  How  gladly  I  would  spare 
myself  my  own  praises,  and  you  the  necessity  of 
listening  to  them  !  Yes,  here  it  is  :  ^  Through  you, 
you  irresistible  woman,*  he  writes,  *  I  learned  for 
the  first  time,  after  youth  was  over,  how  beautiful 
life  can  be.'  " 

Cleopatra,  as  she  spoke,  handed  Caesar  the  let- 
ter. But  while  she  was  still  searching  hastily  for 
another  he  returned  the  first,  saying  : 

"  I  understand  only  too  well  your  reluctance  to 
allow  such  confidential  effusions  to  play  the  part 
of  defender.  I  can  imagine  their  purport,  and 
they  shall  influence  me  as  if  I  had  read  them  all. 
However  eloquent  they  may  be,  they  are  need- 
less witnesses.  Is  any  written  testimony  re- 
quired in  behalf  of  charms  whose  magic  is  still 
potent  ? " 

A  bewitching  smile,  which  seemed  like  a  con- 


CLEOPATRA.  27 1 

firmation  of  the  haughty  young  conqueror's  flatter- 
ing words,  flitted  over  Cleopatra's  face. 

Octavianus  noticed  it.  This  woman  indeed  pos- 
sessed enthralling  charms,  and  he  felt  the  slight 
flush  that  suffused  his  cheeks. 

This  unhappy  captive,  this  suffering  supplicant, 
could  still  draw  into  her  net  any  man  who  did  not 
possess  the  cool  watchfulness  which  panoplied  his 
soul.  Was  it  the  marvellous  melody  of  her  voice, 
the  changeful  lustre  of  her  tearful  eyes,  the  aristo- 
cratic grace  of  the  noble  figure,  the  exquisite  sym- 
metry of  the  hands  and  feet,  the  weakness  of  the 
prostrate  sufferer,  strangely  blended  with  truly 
royal  majesty,  or  the  thought  that  love  for  her  had 
bound  earth's  greatest  and  loftiest  men  with  indis- 
soluble fetters,  which  lent  this  fragile  woman,  who 
had  long  since  passed  the  boundaries  of  youth,  so 
powerful  a  spell  of  attraction  ? 

At  any  rate,  however  certain  of  himself  he 
might  be,  he  must  guard  his  feelings.  He  under- 
stood how  to  bridle  passion  far  better  than  the 
uncle  who  was  so  greatly  his  superior. 

Yet  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  to  keep 
her  alive,  and  therefore  to  maintain  her  belief  in 
his  admiration.  He  wished  to  show  the  world  and 
the  Great  Queen  of  the  East,  who  had  just  boasted 
of  conquering,  like  death,  even  the  most  mighty, 
his  own  supremacy  as  man  and  victor.  But  he 
must  also  be  gentle,  in  order  not  to  endanger  the 
object  for  which  he  wanted  her.     She  must  accom- 


272 


CLEOPATRA. 


pany  him  to  Rome.  She  and  her  children  promised 
to  render  his  triumph  the  most  brilliant  and  mem- 
orable one  which  any  conqueror  had  ever  displayed 
to  the  senate  and  the  people.  In  a  light  tone 
which,  however,  revealed  the  emotion  of  his  soul, 
he  answered  :  "  My  illustrious  uncle  w^as  known  as 
a  friend  of  fair  women.  His  stern  life  was  crowned 
with  flowers  by  many  hands,  and  he  acknowledged 
these  favours  verbally  and  perhaps — as  he  did  to 
you  in  all  these  letters — with  the  reed.  His  genius 
was  greater,  at  any  rate  more  many-sided  and  mo- 
bile, than  mine.  He  succeeded,  too,  in  pursuing 
different  objects  at  the  same  time  with  equal  de- 
votion. I  am  wholly  absorbed  in  the  cares  of 
state,  of  government,  and  war.  I  feel  grateful 
when  I  can  permit  our  poets  to  adorn  my  leisure 
for  a  brief  space.  Overburdened  with  toil,  I  have 
no  time  to  yield  myself  captive,  as  my  uncle  did  in 
these  very  rooms,  to  the  most  charming  of  women. 
If  I  could  follow  my  own  will,  you  would  be  the 
first  from  whom  I  would  seek  the  gifts  of  Eros. — 
But  it  may  not  be!  We  Romans  learn  to  curb 
even  the  most  ardent  wishes  when  duty  and  mo- 
rality command.  There  is  no  city  in  the  world 
where  half  so  many  gods  are  worshipped  as  here; 
and  what  strange  deities  are  numbered  among 
them !  It  needs  a  special  effort  of  the  intellect  to 
understand  them.  But  the  simple  duties  of  the 
domestic  hearth! — they  are  too  prosaic  for  you 
Alexandrians,  who  imbibe  philosophy  with  your 


CLEOPATRA.  2/3 

mothers'  milk.  What  marvel,  if  I  looked  for  them 
in  vain  ?  True,  they  would  find  little  satisfaction 
— our  household  gods  I  mean — here,  where  the 
rigid  demands  of  Hymen  are  mute  before  the 
ardent  pleadings  of  Eros.  Marriage  is  scarcely 
reckoned  among  the  sacred  things  of  life.  But  this 
opinion  seems  to  displease  you." 

"  Because  it  is  false,"  cried  Cleopatra,  repress- 
ing with  difficulty  a  fresh  outburst  of  indignation. 
"  Yet,  if  I  see  aright,  your  reproach  is  aimed  only  at 
the  bond  which  united  me  to  the  man  who  was  called 

your  sister's  husband.     But  I  will I  would 

gladly  remain  silent,  but  you  force  me  to  speak, 
and  I  will  do  so,  though  your  own  friend,  Procu- 
lejus,  is  signing  to  me  to  be  cautious.  I — I,  Cleo- 
patra, was  the  wife  of  Mark  Antony  according  to 
the  customs  of  this  country,  when  you  wedded  him 
to  the  widow  of  Marcellus,  who  had  scarcely  closed 
his  eyes.  Not  she,  but  I,  was  the  deserted  wife — I 
to  whom  his  heart  belonged  until  the  hour  of  his 

death,  not  the  unloved  consort  wedded "    Here 

her  voice  fell.  She  had  yielded  to  the  passionate 
impulse  which  urged  her  to  express  her  feelings  in 
the  matter,  and  now  continued  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
explanation :  "  I  know  that  you  proposed  this 
alliance  solely  for  the  peace  and  welfare  of 
Rome " 

"  To  guard  both,  and  to  spare  the  blood  of  tens 
of  thousands,"  Octavianus  added  with  proud  de- 
cision.    "  Your  clear  brain  perceived  the  true  state 


274 


CLEOPATRA. 


of  affairs.     If,  spite  of  the  grave  importance  of 

these  motives,  you But  what  voices  would  not 

that  of  the  heart  silence  with  you  women  I  The 
man,  the  Roman,  succeeded  in  closing  his  ears  to 
its  siren  song.  Were  it  otherwise,  I  would  never 
have  chosen  for  my  sister  a  husband  by  whom  I 
knew  her  happiness  would  be  so  ill-guarded — I 
would,  as  I  have  already  said,  be  unable  to  mas- 
ter my  own  admiration  of  the  loveliest  of  women. 
But  I  ought  scarcely  to  boast  of  that.  I  fear  that  a 
heart  like  yours  opens  less  quickly  to  the  modest 
Octavianus  than  to  a  Julius  Caesar  or  the  brilliant 
Mark  Antony.  Yet  I  may  be  permitted  to  confess 
that  perhaps  I  might  have  avoided  conducting  this 
unhappy  war  against  my  friend  to  the  end  under 
my  own  guidance,  and  appearing  myself  in  Egypt, 
had  I  not  been  urged  by  the  longing  to  see  once 
more  the  woman  who  had  dazzled  my  boyish  eyes. 
Now,  in  my  mature  manhood,  I  desired  to  compre- 
hend those  marvellous  gifts  of  mind,  that  match- 
less sagacity " 

"  Sagacity  !  "  interrupted  the  Queen,  shrugging 
her  shoulders  mournfully.  "You  possess  a  far 
greater  share  of  what  is  commonly  called  by  that 
name.  My  fate  proves  it.  The  pliant  intellect 
which  the  gods  bestowed  on  me  would  ill  sustain 
the  test  in  this  hour  of  anguish.  But  if  you  really 
care  to  learn  what  mental  power  Cleopatra  once 
possessed,  relieve  me  of  this  terrible  burden  of  un- 
certainty, and  grant  me  a  position   in  life  which 


CLEOPATRA. 


275 


will  permit  my  paralyzed  soul  to  move  freely  once 
more/' 

"It  depends  solely  on  yourself,"  Octavianus 
eagerly  responded,  "  to  make  your  future  life,  not 
only  free  from  care,  but  beautiful." 

"  On  me  ? "  asked  Cleopatra  in  astonishment. 
"  Our  weal  and  woe  are  in  your  hands  alone.  I  am 
modest  and  ask  nothing  save  to  know  what  you 
intend  for  our  future,  what  you  mean  by  the  lot 
which  you  term  beautiful." 

"  Nothing  less,"  replied  the  Caesar  quietly, 
"than  what  seems  to  lie  nearest  to  your  own 
heart — a  life  of  that  freedom  of  soul  to  which  you 
aspire." 

The  breath  of  the  agitated  Queen  began  to 
come  more  quickly  and,  no  longer  able  to  control 
the  impatience  which  overpowered  her,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  With  the  assurance  of  your  favour  on 
your  lips,  you  refuse  to  discuss  the  question  which 
interests,  me  beyond  any  other — for  which,  if  any, 
you  must  have  been  prepared  when  you  came 
here " 

"  Reproaches  ?  "  asked  Octavianus  with  well- 
feigned  surprise.  "Would  it  not  rather  be  my 
place  to  complain  ?  It  is  precisely  because  I  am  so 
thoroughly  sincere  in  the  friendly  disposition 
which  you  read  aright  from  my  words,  that  some 
of  your  measures  cannot  fail  to  wound  me.  Your 
treasures  were  to  be  committed  to  the  flames.  It 
would   be  unfair  to  expect  tokens  of  friendship 


276  CLEOPATRA. 

from  the  vanquished ;  but  can  you  deny  that  even 
the  bitterest  hatred  could  scarcely  succeed  in  de- 
vising anything  more  hostile  ?" 

"  Let  the  past  rest !  Who  would  not  seek  in 
war  to  diminish  the  enemy's  booty?"  pleaded  the 
Queen  in  a  soothing  tone.  But  as  Octavianus  de- 
layed his  answer,  she  continued  more  eagerly  :  ^'  It 
is  said  that  the  ibex  in  the  mountains,  when  in  mor- 
tal peril,  rushes  upon  the  hunter  and  hurls  him 
with  it  down  the  precipice.  The  same  impulse  is 
natural  to  human  beings,  and  praiseworthy,  I  think, 
in  both.  Forget  the  past,  as  I  will  try  to  do,  I  re- 
peat with  uplifted  hands.  Say  that  you  will  per- 
mit the  sons  whom  I  gave  to  Antony  to  ascend  the 
Egyptian  throne,  not  under  their  mother's  guard- 
ianship, but  that  of  Rome,  and  grant  me  freedom 
wherever  I  may  live,  and  I  will  gladly  transfer  to 
you,  down  to  the  veriest  trifles,  all  the  property 
and  treasures  I  possess." 

She  clenched  her  little  hand  impatiently  under 
the  folds  of  her  robe  as  she  spoke;  but  Octavianus 
lowered  his  eyes,  saying  carelessly :  "  In  war  the 
victor  disposes  of  the  property  of  the  vanquished ; 
but  my  heart  restrains  me  from  applying  the  uni- 
versal law  to  you,  who  are  so  far  above  ordinary 
mortals.  Your  wealth  is  said  to  be  vast,  though 
the  foolish  war  which  Antony,  with  your  aid,  so 
greatly  prolonged,  devoured  vast  sums.  In  this 
country  squandered  gold  seems  like  the  grass 
which,  when  mowed,  springs  up  anew." 


CLEOPATRA.  277 

"You  speak/'  replied  Cleopatra,  more  and  more 
deeply  incensed,  with  proud  composure,  "of  the 
treasures  which  my  ancestors,  the  powerful  mon- 
archs  of  a  wealthy  country,  amassed  during  three 
hundred  years  for  their  noble  race  and  for  the 
adornment  of  the  women  of  their  line.  Parsimony 
did  not  accord  with  the  generosity  and  lofty  nature 
of  an  Antony,  yet  avarice  itself  would  not  deem  the 
portion  still  remaining  insignificant.  Every  article 
is  registered." 

While  speaking,  she  took  a  manuscript  from  the 
hand  of  Seleukus  and  passed  it  to  Octavianus  who, 
with  a  slight  bend  of  the  head,  received  it  in  silence. 
But  he  had  scarcely  begun  to  read  it  when  the  stew- 
ard, a  little  corpulent  man  with  twinkling  eyes  half 
buried  in  his  fat  cheeks,  raised  his  short  forefinger, 
pointed  insolently  at  the  Queen,  and  asserted  that 
she  was  trying  to  conceal  some  things,  and  had 
ordered  him  not  to  place  them  on  the  list.  Every 
tinge  of  colour  faded  from  the  lips  and  cheeks  of  the 
agitated  and  passionate  woman  ;  tortured  by  fever- 
ish impatience  and  no  longer  able  to  control  her 
emotions,  she  raised  herself  and,  with  her  own 
dainty  hand,  struck  the  accuser — whom  she  had 
lifted  from  poverty  and  obscurity  to  his  present 
high  position — again  and  again  in  the  face,  till 
Octavianus,  with  a  smile  of  superiority,  begged 
her,  much  as  the  man  deserved  his  punishment,  to 
desist. 

The  unfortunate  woman,  thus  thrown  off  her 


2/8  CLEOPATRA. 

guard,  flung  herself  back  on  her  couch  and,  pant- 
ing for  breath,  with  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes, 
sobbed  aloud,  declaring  that  in  the  presence  of 
such  unendurable  insult,  such  contemptible  base- 
ness, she  fairly  loathed  herself.  Then  pressing  her 
clenched  hands  upon  her  temples,  she  exclaimed : 
"  Before  the  eyes  of  the  foe  my  royal  dignity,  which 
I  have  maintained  all  my  life,  falls  from  me  like  a 
borrowed  mantle.  Yet  what  am  I  ?  What  shall  I 
be  to-morrow,  what  later  ?  But  who  beneath  the 
sun  who  has  warm  blood  in  his  veins  can  preserve 
his  composure  when  juicy  grapes  are  held  before 
his  thirsting  lips  to  be  withdrawn,  as  from  Tantalus, 
ere  he  can  taste  them  ?  You  came  hither  with  the 
assurance  of  your  favour;  but  the  flattering  words 
of  promise  which  you  bestowed  upon  the  unhappy 
woman  were  probably  only  the  drops  of  poppy- 
juice  given  to  soothe  the  ravings  of  fever.  Was 
the  favour  which  you  permitted  me  to  see  and  an- 
ticipate for  the  future  merely  intended  to  delude  a 

miserable " 

But  she  went  no  further ;  Octavianus,  with  dig- 
nified bearing  and  loud,  clear  tones,  interrupted: 
"  Whoever  believes  the  heir  of  Caesar  capable  of 
shamefully  deceiving  a  noble  woman,  a  queen,  the 
object  of  his  illustrious  uncle's  love,  insults  and 
wounds  him  ;  but  the  just  anger  which  overmas- 
tered you  may  serve  as  your  apology.  Ay,"  he 
added  in  a  totally  different  tone,  "  I  might  even 
have  cause  to  be  grateful  for  this  indignation,  and 


CLEOPATRA.         -  279 

to  wish  for  another  opportunity  to  witness  the  out- 
break of  passion  though  in  its  unbridled  fierceness 
— the  royal  lioness  is  scarcely  aware  of  her  own 
beauty  when  the  tempest  of  wrath  sweeps  her 
away.  What  must  she  be  when  it  is  love  that  con- 
strains the  flame  of  her  glowing  soul  to  burst  into 
a  blaze  ? " 

"  Her  glowing  soul ! "  Cleopatra  eagerly  re- 
peated, and  the  desire  awoke  to  subjugate  this 
man  who  had  so  confidently  boasted  of  his  power 
of  resistance.  Though  he  might  be  stronger  than 
many  others,  he  certainly  was  not  invincible.  And 
aware  of  her  still  unbroken  sway  over  the  hearts 
of  men,  her  eyes  sparkled  with  the  alluring  ra- 
diance of  love,  and  a  bewitching  smile  brightened 
her  face. 

The  young  Imperator's  heart  began  to  chafe 
under  the  curb  and  to  beat  more  quickly,  his  cheeks 
flushed  and  paled  by  turns.  How  she  gazed  at  him  ! 
What  if  she  loved  the  nephew  as  she  had  once  loved 
the  uncle  who,  through  her,  had  learned  what  bliss 
life  can  offer  ?  Ay,  it  must  be  happiness  to  kiss 
those  lips,  to  be  clasped  in  those  exquisite  arms,  to 
hear  one's  own  name  tenderly  spoken  by  those 
musical  tones.  Even  the  magnificent  marble  statue 
of  Ariadne,  which  he  had  seen  in  Athens,  had  not 
displayed  to  his  gaze  line?  more  beautiful  than 
those  of  the  woman  reclining  on  yonder  pillows. 
Who  could  venture  to  speak  in  her  presence  of 
vanished  charms  ?     Ah,  no  !     The  spell  which  had 


28o  CLEOPATRA. 

conquered  Julius  Caesar  was  as  vivid,  as  potent  as 
ever.  He  himself  felt  its  power ;  he  was  young, 
and  after  such  unremitting  exertions  he  too  yearned 
to  quaff  the  nectar  of  the  noblest  joys,  to  steep 
body  and  soul  in  peerless  bliss. 

So,  with  a  hasty  movement,  he  took  one  step 
towards  her  couch,  resolved  to  grasp  her  hands  and 
raise  them  to  his  lips.  His  ardent  gaze  answered 
hers ;  but  surprised  by  the  power  which,  though  so 
heavily  burdened  with  physical  and  mental  suffer- 
ing, she  still  possessed  over  the  strongest  and  cold- 
est of  men,  she  perceived  what  was  passing  in  his 
soul,  and  a  smile  of  triumph,  blended  with  the  most 
bitter  contempt,  hovered  around  her  beautiful  lips. 
Should  she  dupe  him  into  granting  her  wishes  by 
feigning  love  for  the  first  time  ?  Should  she  yield 
to  the  man  who  had  insulted  her,  in  order  to  induce 
him  to  accord  the  children  their  rights  ?  Should 
she,  to  gratify  her  lover's  foe,  relinquish  the  sacred 
grief  which  was  drawing  her  after  him,  give  pos- 
terity and  her  children  the  right  to  call  her,  instead 
of  the  most  loyal  of  the  loyal,  a  dishonoured  wom- 
an, who  sold  herself  for  power  ? 

To  all  these  questions  came  a  prompt  denial. 
The  single  stride  which  Octavianus  had  made 
towards  her,  his  eyes  aflame  with  love,  gave  her 
the  right  to  feel  that  she  had  vanquished  the  victor, 
and  the  proud  delight  of  triumph  was  too  plainly 
reflected  in  her  mobile  features  to  escape  the  pene- 
trating, distrustful  gaze  of  the  subjugated  Caesar. 


ff  OF  TEE       • 

CLEOPATRA.  \  ''^^IVl^aSIT 

But  he  had  scarcely  perceived  what  threatened  him, 
and  remembered  her  words  concerning  his  famous 
uncle's  surrender  only  to  her  and  to  death,  when  he 
succeeded  in  conquering  his  quickly  kindled  senses. 
Blushing  at  his  own  weakness,  he  averted  his  eyes 
from  the  Queen,  and  when  he  met  those  of  Procu- 
lejus  and  the  other  witnesses  of  the  scene,  he  real- 
ized the  abyss  on  whose  verge  he  stood.  He  had 
half  succumbed  to  the  danger  of  losing,  by  a  mo- 
ment's weakness,  the  fruit  of  great  sacrifices  and 
severe  exertions. 

His  expressive  eyes,  which  had  just  rested 
rapturously  upon  a  beautiful  woman,  now  scanned 
the  spectators  with  the  stern  glance  of  a  monarch 
and,  apparently  wishing  to  moderate  an  excess  of 
flattering  recognition  which  might  be  misinter- 
preted, he  said  in  an  almost  pedagogical  tone : 

"  Yet  we  would  rather  see  the  noble  lioness  in 
the  majestic  repose  which  best  suits  all  sovereigns. 
It  is  difficult  for  a  calm,  deliberate  nature  like  mine 
to  understand  an  ardent,  quickly  kindling  heart." 

Cleopatra  had  watched  this  sudden  transition 
with  more  surprise  than  disappointment.  Octa- 
vianus  had  half  surrendered  to  her,  but  recovered 
his  self-command  in  time,  and  a  man  of  his  tem- 
perament does  not  readily  succumb  twice  to  a  dan- 
ger which  he  barely  escaped.  And  this  was  well! 
He  should  learn  that  he  had  misunderstood  the 
glance  which  fired  his  heart ;  so  she  answered  dis- 
tantly, with  majestic  dignity : 


282  CLEOPATRA. 

"Misery  such  as  mine  quenches  all  ardour: 
And  love  ?  Woman's  heart  is  ever  open  to  it,  save 
where  it  has  lost  the  desire  for  power  and  pleas- 
ure. You  are  young  and  happy,  therefore  your 
soul  still  yearns  for  love — I  know  that — though 
not  for  mine.  To  me,  on  the  contrary,  one  suitor 
only  is  welcome,  he  with  the  lowered  torch,  whom 
you  keep  aloof  from  me.  With  him  alone  is  to  be 
found  the  boon  for  which  this  soul  has  longed 
from  childhood — painless  peace !  You  smile.  My 
past  gives  you  the  right  to  do  so.  1  will  not 
lessen  it.  Each  individual  lives  his  or  her  own 
life.  Few  understand  the  changes  of  their  own 
existence,  far  less  those  of  a  stranger's.  The 
world  has  witnessed  how  Peace  fled  from  my  path, 
or  I  from  hers,  and  yet  I  see  the  possibility  of 
finding  the  way.  I  am  safe  from  the  only  things 
which  would  debar  me  from  those  joys — humilia- 
tion and  disgrace."  Here  she  hesitated ;  then,  as 
if  in  explanation,  continued  in  the  sweetest  tones 
at  her  command :  "  Your  generosity,  I  think,  will 
guard  from  these  two  foes  the  woman  whom 
just  now — I  did  not  fail  to  see  it — you  considered 
worthy  of  a  more  than  gracious  glance.  I  shall 
treasure  it  among  memories  which  will  never  fade. 
But  now,  illustrious  Imperator !  tell  me,  what  is 
your  decision  concerning  me  and  the  children? 
What  may  we  hope  from  your  favour  ? " 

"  That  Octavianus  will  be  more  and  more 
warmly  animated  by  the  desire  to  accord  you  and 


CLEOPATRA.  283 

yours  a  worthy  destiny,  the  more  firmly  you  ex- 
pect that  he  will  attest  his  generosity." 

*/  And  if  I  fulfil  this  desire  and  expect  from  you 
everything  that  is  great  and  noble — the  condition 
is  not  difficult — what  proofs  of  your  graciousness 
will  then  await  us?" 

"  Paint  them  with  all  the  fervour  of  that  vivid 
power  of  imagination  which  interpreted  even  my 
glance  in  your  favour,  and  devised  the  marvels  by 
which  you  rendered  the  greatest  and  most  brilliant 
man  in  Rome  the  happiest  of  mortals.  But — by 
Zeus  !— it  is  the  fourth  hour  after  noonday  !  " 

A  glance  from  the  window  had  caused  the  ex- 
clamation. Then,  pressing  his  hand  upon  his  heart, 
he  continued  in  a  tone  of  the  most  sincere  regret : 
"  How  gladly  I  would  prolong  this  fascinating  con- 
versation, but  important  matters  which,  unfortu- 
nately, cannot  be  deferred,  summon  me " 

"  And  your  answer  ?  "  cried  Cleopatra,  panting 
for  breath  and  gazing  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  ex- 
pectation. 

"  Must  I  repeat  it  ? "  he  asked  with  impatient 
haste.  "Very  well,  then.  In  return  for  implicit 
confidence  on  your  part,  favour,  forgiveness,  cor- 
diality, every  consideration  which  you  can  justly 
desire.  Your  heart  is  so  rich  in  warmth  of  feeling, 
grant  me  but  a  small  share  of  it  and  ask  tangible 
gifts  in  return.  They  are  already  bestowed."  Then 
greeting  her  like  a  friend  who  is  reluctant  to  say 
farewell,  he  hastily  left  the  apartment. 


284  CLEOPATRA. 

"  Gone — gone  !  "  cried  Iras  as  the  door  closed 
behind  him.  "An  eel  that  slips  from  the  hand 
which  strives  to  hold  him." 

**  Northern  ice,"  added  Cleopatra  gloomily  as 
Charmian  aided  her  to  find  a  more  comfortable 
position.  "  As  smooth  as  it  is  cold ;  there  is  noth- 
ing more  to  hope." 

"  Yes,  my  royal  mistress,  yes,"  Iras  eagerly  pro- 
tested. "Dolabella  is  waiting  for  him  in  the 
Philadelphus  court-yard.  From  him — you  have  his 
promise — we  shall  learn  what  Octavianus  has  in 
store  for  you." 

In  truth,  the  Caesar  did  find  the  youth  at  the 
first  gate  of  the  palace,  inspecting  his  superb  Cy- 
renean  horses. 

"  Magnificent  animals !  "  cried  Octavianus ;  "a 
gift  from  the  city !  Will  you  drive  with  me  ? — A 
remarkable,  a  very  remarkable  woman !  " 

"  Isn't  she  ? "  asked  Dolabella  eagerly. 

**  Undoubtedly,"  replied  the  Caesar.  "But 
though  she  might  almost  be  your  mother,  an  un- 
commonly dangerous  one  for  youths  of  your  age. 
What  a  melting  voice,  what  versatility,  what  fer- 
vour !  And  yet  such  regal  grace  in  every  move- 
ment !  But  I  wish  to  stifle,  not  to  fan,  the  spark 
which  perhaps  has  already  fallen  mto  your  heart. 
And  the  play,  the  farce  which  she  just  enacted  be- 
fore me  in  the  midst  of  most  serious  matters! " 

He  uttered  a  low,  short  laugh;  but  Dolabella 
exclaimed   expectantly:    "You   rarely  laugh,  but 


CLEOPATRA.  285 

this  conversation — apparently — excites  your  mirth. 
So  the  result  was  satisfactory  ? " 

*'  Let  us  hope  so.  I  was  as  gracious  to  her  as 
possible." 

"  That  is  delightful.  May  I  know  in  what 
manner  your  kindness  and  wisdom  have  shaped 
her  future  ?  Or,  rather,  what  did  you  promise  the 
vanquished  Queen  ?  " 

^*  My  favour,  if  she  will  trust  me." 

"  Proculejus  and  I  will  continue  to  strengthen 
her  confidence.     And  if  we  succeed ?  " 

"  Then,  as  I  have  said,  she  will  have  my  favour 
— a  generous  abundance  of  favour." 

"  But  her  future  destiny  ?  What  fate  will  you 
bestow  on  her  and  her  children  ?" 

"Whatever  the  degree  of  her  confidence  de- 
serves." 

Here  he  hesitated,  for  he  met  Dolabella's  ear- 
nest, troubled  gaze,  which  was  blended  with  a  shade 
of  reproach. 

Octavianus  desired  to  retain  the  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  the  youth,  who  perhaps  was  destined 
to  lofty  achievements,  so  he  continued  in  a  con- 
fidential tone  :  "  To  you,  my  young  friend,  I  can 
venture  to  speak  more  frankly.  I  will  gladly 
grant  the  most  aspiring  wishes  of  this  fasci- 
nating and,  I  repeat,  very  remarkable  woman,  but 
first  I  need  her  for  my  triumph.  The  Romans 
would  have  cause  to  reproach  me  if  I  deprived 
them  of  the  sight  of  this  Queen,  this  peerless  wom- 
39 


286  CLEOPATRA. 

an,  in  many  respects  the  first  of  her  time.  We 
shall  soon  set  out  for  Syria.  The  Queen  and  her 
children  I  shall  send  in  three  days  to  Rome.  If, 
in  the  triumphal  procession  there,  she  creates  the 
sensation  I  anticipate  from  a  spectacle  so  worthy 
of  admiration,  she  shall  learn  how  I  reward  those 
who  oblige  me." 

Dolabella  had  listened  in  silence.  When  the 
Caesar  entered  the  carriage,  he  requested  permis- 
sion to  remain  behind. 

Octavianus  drove  alone  eastward  to  the  camp 
where,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Hippodrome,  men  were 
surveying  the  ground  on  which  the  suburb  of  Ni- 
kopolis — city  of  victory — was  to  be  built  to  com- 
memorate for  future  generations  the  victory  of  the 
first  Emperor  over  Antony  and  Cleopatra.  It  grew, 
but  never  attained  any  great  importance. 

The  noble  Cornelius  gazed  indignantly  after 
his  sovereign's  fiery  steeds  ;  then,  drawing  up  his 
stately  figure  to  its  full  height,  he  entered  the 
palace  with  a  firm  step.  The  act  might  cost  him 
his  life,  but  he  would  do  what  he  believed  to  be 
his  duty  to  the  noble  woman  who  had  honoured 
him  with  her  friendship.  This  rare  sovereign  was 
too  good  to  feast  the  ^yes  of  the  rabble. 

A  few  minutes  later  Cleopatra  knew  her  im- 
pending ignominy. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

The  next  morning  the  Queen  had  many  whis- 
pered conversations  with  Charmian,  and  the  latter 
with  Anukis.  The  day  before,  Archibius's  garden- 
er had -brought  to  his  master's  sister  some  unusu- 
ally fine  figs,  which  grew  in  the  old  garden  of 
Epicurus.  This  fruit  was  also  mentioned,  and 
Anukis  went  to  Kanopus,  and  thence,  in  the  stew- 
ard's carriage,  with  a  basket  of  the  very  best  ones 
to  the  fish-market.  There  she  had  a  great  deal  to 
say  to  Pyrrhus,  and  the  freedman  went  to  his  boat 
with  the  figs. 

Shortly  after  the  Nubian's  return  the  Queen 
came  back  to  the  palace  from  the  mausoleum. 
Her  features  bore  an  impress  of  resolution  usually 
alien  to  them  ;  nay,  the  firmly  compressed  lips  gave 
them  an  expression  of  actual  sternness.  She  knew 
what  duty  required,  and  regarded  her  approaching 
end  as  an  inevitable  necessity.  Death  seemed  to 
her  like  a  journey  which  she  must  take  in  order 
to  escape  the  most  terrible  disgrace.  Besides,  life 
after  the  death  of  Antony  was  no  longer  the  same; 
it  had  been  only  a  tiresome  delay  and  waiting  for 
the  children's  sake. 


288  CLEOPATRA. 

The  visit  to  the  tomb  had  been  intended,  as  it 
were,  to  announce  her  coming  to  her  husband. 
She  had  remained  a  long  time  in  the  silent  hall, 
where  she  had  garlanded  the  coffin  with  flowers, 
kissed  it,  talked  to  the  dead  man  as  if  he  were  still 
alive,  and  told  him  that  the  day  had  come  when 
what  he  had  mentioned  in  his  will  as  the  warmest 
desire  of  his  heart — to  rest  beside  her  in  the  same 
tomb — would  be  fulfilled.  Among  the  thousand 
forms  of  suffering  which  had  assailed  her,  nothing 
had  seemed  so  hard  to  bear  as  to  be  deprived  of 
his  society  and  love. 

Then  she  had  gone  into  the  garden,  embraced 
and  kissed  the  children,  and  entreated  them  to  re- 
member her  tenderly.  Her  purpose  had  not  been 
concealed  from  Archibius,  but  Charmian  had  told 
him  the  menace  of  the  future,  and  he  approved  her 
decision.  By  the  exertion  of  all  his  innate  strength 
of  will,  he  succeeded  in  concealing  the  grief  which 
rent  his  faithful  heart.  She  must  die.  The  thought 
of  seeing  her  adorn  the  triumphal  procession  of 
Octavianus  was  unbearable  to  him  also.  Her 
thanks  and  entreaties  to  be  an  affectionate  guard- 
ian to  the  children  were  received  with  an  external 
calmness  which  afterwards  seemed  to  him  utterly 
incomprehensible. 

When  she  spoke  of  her  approaching  meeting 
with  her  lover,  he  asked  whether  she  had  entirely 
abandoned  the  teachings  of  Epicurus,  who  be- 
lieved that  death  absolutely  ended  existence. 


CLEOPATRA.  289 

Cleopatra  eagerly  assented,  saying:  "Absence 
of  pain  has  ceased  to  appear  to  me  the  chief  earth- 
ly blessing,  since  I  have  known  that  love  does  not 
bring  pleasure  only,  since  I  have  learned  that  pain 
is  the  inseparable  companion  of  love.  I  will  not 
give  it  up,  nor  will  I  part  from  my  lover.  Who- 
ever experiences  what  fate  has  allotted  to  me  has 
learned  to  know  other  gods  than  those  whom  the 
master  described  as  dwelling  happily  in  undis- 
turbed repose.  Rather  eternal  torture  in  another 
world,  united  to  the  man  I  love,  than  painless,  joy- 
less mere  existence  in  a  desolate,  incomprehensible, 
unknown  region !  You  will  be  the  last  to  teach 
the  children  to  yearn  for  freedom  from  pain " 

"Because,  like  you,"  cried  Archibius,  "I  have 
learned  how  great  a  blessing  is  love,  and  that  love 
is  pain." 

As  he  spoke  he  bent  over  her  hand  to  kiss  it, 
but  she  took  his  temples  between  her  hands  and, 
bending  hastily,  pressed  her  lips  on  his  broad 
brow. 

Then  his  self-control  vanished,  and,  sobbing 
aloud,  he  hurried  back  to  the  children. 

Cleopatra  gazed  after  him  with  a  sorrowful 
smile,  and  leaning  on  Charmian's  arm,  she  entered 
the  palace. 

There  she  was  bathed  and,  robed  in  costly  mourn- 
ing garments,  reclined  among  her  cushions  to  take 
breakfast,  which  was  usually  served  at  this  hour. 

Iras  and  Charmian  shared  it. 


290 


CLEOPATRA. 


When  dessert  was  carried  in,  the  Nubian  brought 
a  basket  filled  with  delicious  figs.  A  peasant,  she 
told  Epaphroditus,  who  was  watching  the  meal, 
had  given  them  to  her  because  they  were  so  re- 
markably fine.  Some  had  already  been  snatched 
by  the  guards. 

The  Queen  and  her  companions  ate  a  little  of 
the  fruit,  and  Proculejus,  who  had  come  to  greet 
Cleopatra,  was  also  persuaded  to  taste  one  of  the 
finest  figs. 

At  the  end  of  the  meal  Cleopatra  wished  to  rest. 

The  Roman  gentlemen  and  the  guards  retired. 

At  last  the  women  were  alone,  and  gazed  at  each 
other  silently. 

Charmian  timidly  lifted  the  upper  layer  of  the 
fruit,  but  the  Queen  said  mournfully : 

"  The  wife  of  Antony  dragged  through  the 
streets  of  Rome  behind  the  victor's  chariot,  a 
spectacle  for  the  populace  and  envious  matrons!" 
Then,  starting  up,  she  exclaimed :  "  What  a 
thought !  Was  it  too  great  for  Octavianus,  or 
too  petty  ?  He  who  so  loudly  boasts  his  knowl- 
edge of  mankind  expects  this  impossibility  from 
the  woman  who  revealed  her  inmost  soul  to  him 
as  fully  as  he  concealed  his  from  her.  We  will 
show  him  how  small  is  his  comprehension  of  hu- 
man nature,  and  teach  him  modesty." 

A  contemptuous  smile  flitted  over  her  beautiful 
lips  as,  with  rapid  movements,  she  flung  handful 
after  handful  of  figs  on  the  table,  till  she  saw  some- 


CLEOPATRA. 


291 


thing  stirring  under  the  fruit,  and  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  exclaimed  under  her  breath : 

"  There  it  is  ! "  as  with  hasty  resolution  she 
held  out  her  arm  towards  the  asp,  which  hissed 
at  her. 

While  gazing  intently  at  the  movements  of  the 
viper,  which  seemed  afraid  to  fulfil  the  dread  office, 
she  said  to  her  attendants : 

*'  I  thank  you — thank  you  for  everything.  Be 
calm.  You  know,  Iras,  it  will  cause  no  pain.  They 
say  it  is  like  falling  asleep."  Then  she  shuddered 
slightly,  adding:  "  Death  is  a  solemn  thing;  yet  it 
must  be.  Why  does  the  serpent  delay  ?  There — 
there ;  I  will  keep  firm.  Ambition  and  love  were 
the  moving  forces  of  my  life.  Men  shall  praise  my 
memory. — I  follow  you,  Mark  Antony  !  " 

Charmian  bent  over  the  left  arm  of  her  royal 
mistress,  which  hung  loosely  at  her  side,  and,  weep- 
ing aloud,  covered  it  with  kisses,  while  Cleopatra, 
watching  the  motions  of  the  asp  still  more  closely, 
added : 

"  The  peace  of  our  garden  of  Epicurus  will  be- 
gin to-day.  Whether  it  will  be  painless,  who  can 
tell  ?  Yet — there  I  agree  with  Archibius — life's 
greatest  joy — love — is  blended  with  pain,  as  yonder 
branch  of  exquisite  roses  from  Dolabella,  the  last 
gift  of  friendship,  has  its  sharp  thorns.  I  think  you 
have   both  experienced  this.    The  twins   and   my 

little  darling When  they  think  of  their  mother 

and  her  end,  will  not  the  children '* 


292 


CLEOPATRA. 


Here  she  uttered  a  low  cry.  The  asp  had  struck 
its  fangs  into  the  upper  part  of  her  arm  like  an  icy 
flash  of  lightning,  and  a  few  instants  later  Cleopatra 
sank  back  upon  her  pillows  lifeless. 

Iras,  pale  but  calm,  pointed  to  her,  saying: 
"  Like  a  sleeping  child.  Bewitching  even  in  death. 
Fate  itself  was  constrained  to  do  her  will  and  fulfil 
the  last  desire  of  the  great  Queen,  the  victorious 
woman,  whom  no  heart  resisted.  Its  decree  shat- 
ters the  presumptuous  plan  of  Octavianus.  The 
victor  will  show  himself  to  the  Romans  without 
thee,  thou  dear  one." 

Sobbing  violently,  she  bent  over  the  inanimate 
form,  closed  the  eyes,  and  kissed  the  lips  and 
brow.     The  weeping  Charmian  did  the  same. 

Then  the  footsteps  of  men  were  heard  in  the 
anteroom,  and  Iras,  who  was  the  first  to  notice 
them,  cried  eagerly : 

*^  The  moment  is  approaching!  I  am  glad  it  is 
close  at  hand.  Does  it  not  seem  to  you  also  as  if 
the  very  sun  in  the  heavens  was  darkened  ?  " 

Charmian  nodded  assent,  and  whispered,  "The 
poison  ? " 

"  Here !  "  replied  Iras  calmly,  holding  out  a 
plain  pin.  "  One  little  prick,  and  the  deed  will  be 
done.  Look !  But  no.  You  once  inflicted  the 
deepest  suffering  upon  me.     You  know — Dion,  the 

playmate  of  my  childhood It  is  forgiven.    But 

now — you  will  do  me  a  kindness.  You  will  spare 
my  using  the  pin  myself.     Will  you  not  ?     I  will 


CLEOPATRA. 


293 


repay  you.  If  you  wish,  my  hand  shall  render  you 
the  same  service." 

Charmian  clasped  her  niece  to  her  heart,  kissed 
her,  pricked  her  arm  lightly,  and  gave  her  the  other 
pin,  saying : 

"  Now  it  is  your  turn.  Our  hearts  were  filled 
with  love  for  one  who  understood  how  to  bestow 
it  as  none  other  ever  did,  and  our  love  was  re- 
turned. What  matters  all  else  that  we  sacrificed  ? 
Those  on  whom  the  sun  shines  need  no  other  light. 
Love  is  pain,"  she  said  in  dying,  "but  this  pain — 
especially  that  of  renunciation  for  love's  sake — 
bears  with  it  a  joy,  an  exquisite  joy,  which  renders 
death  easy.  To  me  it  seems  as  if  it  were  merely 
following  the  Queen  to Oh,  that  hurt !  " 

Iras's  pin  had  pricked  her. 

The  poison  did  its  work  quickly.  Iras  was 
seized  with  giddiness,  and  could  scarcely  stand. 
Charmian  had  just  sunk  on  her  knees,  when  some 
one  knocked  loudly  at  the  closed  door,  and  the 
voices  of  Epaphroditus  and  Proculejus  imperiously 
demanded  admittance. 

When  no  answer  followed,  the  lock  was  hastily 
burst  open. 

Charmian  was  found  lying  pale  and  distorted 
at  the  feet  of  her  royal  mistress;  but  Iras,  tottering 
and  half  stupefied  by  the  poison,  was  adjusting 
the  diadem,  which  had  slipped  from  its  place.  To 
keep  from  her  beloved  Queen  everything  that  could 
detract  from  her  beauty  had  been  her  last  care. 


294  CLEOPATRA. 

Enraged,  fairly  frantic  with  wrath,  the  Romans 
rushed  towards  the  women.  Epaphroditus  had 
seen  Iras  still  occupied  in  arranging  Cleopatra's 
ornaments.  Now  he  endeavoured  to  raise  her 
companion,  saying  reproachfully,  ^'Charmian,  was 
this  well  done?"  Summoning  her  last  strength, 
she  answered  in  a  faltering  voice,  '*  Perfectly  well, 
and  worthy  a  descendant  of  Egyptian  kings." 
Her  eyes  closed,  but  Proculejus,  the  author,  who 
had  gazed  long  with  deep  emotion  into  the  beauti- 
ful proud  face  of  the  Queen  whom  he  had  so  great- 
ly wronged,  said :  ^'  No  other  woman  on  earth  was 
ever  so  admired  by  the  greatest,  so  loved  by  the 
loftiest.  Her  fame  echoed  from  nation  to  nation 
throughout  the  world.  It  will  continue  to  resound 
from  generation  to  generation;  but  however  loudly 
men  may  extol  the  bewitching  charm,  the  fervour 
of  the  love  which  survived  death,  her  intellect,  her 
knowledge,  the  heroic  courage  with  which  she 
preferred  the  tomb  to  ignominy — the  praise  of 
these  two  must  not  be  forgotten.  Their  fidelity 
deserves  it.  By  their  marvellous  end  they  uncon- 
sciously erected  the  most  beautiful  monument  to 
their  mistress;  for  what  genuine  goodness  and 
lovableness  must  have  been  possessed  by  the  wom- 
an who,  after  the  greatest  reverses,  made  it  seem 
more  desirable  to  those  nearest  to  her  person  to 
die  than  to  live  without  her  !  "  * 

*  The    Roman's    exclamation    and  the  answer  of  the  loyal 
dying  Charmian  are  taken  literally  from  Plutarch's  narrative. 


CLEOPATRA.  295 

The  news  of  the  death  of  their  beloved,  ad- 
mired sovereign  transformed  Alexandria  into  a 
house  of  mourning.  Obsequies  of  unprecedented 
magnificence  and  solemnity,  at  which  many  tears 
of  sincere  grief  flowed,  honoured  her  memory. 
One  of  Octavianus's  most  brilliant  plans  was  frus- 
trated by  her  death,  and  he  had  raved  furiously 
when  he  read  the  letter  in  which  Cleopatra,  with 
her  own  hand,  informed  him  of  her  intention  to  die. 
But  he  owed  it  to  his  reputation  for  generosity  to 
grant  her  a  funeral  worthy  of  her  rank.  To  the 
dead,  who  had  ceased  to  be  dangerous,  he  was 
ready  to  show  an  excess  of  magnanimity. 

The  treatment  which  he  accorded  to  Cleo- 
patra's children  also  won  the  world's  admiration. 
His  sister  Octavia  received  them  into  her  own 
house  and  intrusted  their  education  to  Archibius. 

When  the  order  to  destroy  the  statues  of  An- 
tony and  Cleopatra  was  issued,  Octavianus  gave 
his  contemporaries  another  proof  of  his  dispo- 
sition to  be  lenient,  for  he  ordered  that  the  nu- 
merous statues  of  the  Queen  in  Alexandria  and 
Egypt  should  be  preserved.  True,  he  had  been 
influenced  by  the  large  sum  of  two  thousand 
talents  paid  by  an  Alexandrian  to  secure  this  act 
of  generosity.  Archibius  was  the  name  of  the 
rare  friend  who  had  impoverished  himself  to  ren- 
der this  service  to  the  memory  of  the  beloved 
dead. 

In  later  times  the  statues  of  the  unfortunate 


296  CLEOPATRA. 

Queen  adorned  the  places  where  they  had  been 
erected. 

The  sarcophagi  of  Cleopatra  and  Mark  Antony, 
by  whose  side  rested  Iras  and  Charmian,  were  con- 
stantly heaped  with  flowers  and  offerings  to  the 
dead.  The  women  of  Alexandria,  especially,  went 
to  the  tomb  of  their  beloved  Queen  as  if  it  were 
a  pilgrimage ;  but  in  after-days  faithful  mourners 
also  came  from  a  distance  to  visit  it,  among  them 
the  children  of  the  famous  lovers  whom  death 
here  united — Cleopatra  Selene,  now  the  wife  of 
the  learned  Numidian  Prince  Juba,  Helios  Antony, 
and  Alexander,  who  had  reached  manhood.  Their 
friend  and  teacher,  Archibius,. accompanied  them. 
He  taught  them  to  hold  their  mother's  memory 
dear,  and  had  so  reared  them  that,  in  their  matu- 
rity, he  could  lead  them  with  head  erect  to  the 
sarcophagus  of  the  friend  who  had  confided  them 
to  his  charge. 


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